Punching Bag Blues
by smalld1171
Summary: Missing scene from BUABS. I felt that after getting the crap beat out of him, Dean might be a bit worse for wear and need a little more than an ice pack to be road worthy again. Just saying : I hope any who read will enjoy. Thanks *Now Complete*
1. Chapter 1

**Hi again! It's me! I find that writing a little blurb is a great stress reliever so I found that today I needed to write something... Anything! This was another quick thought that floated through my brain and found itself on the page in about half an hour. By no means do I consider this even close to being my best work but I still hope it is a bit entertaining. I may add another chapter if anyone is interested.**

**Thanks to any who read. It makes me a little sad when I think about how I don't own anything related to SPN... but oh to dream... :)**

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><p>Bobby looks from Sam against the wall, to Dean collapsed on the floor, to Sam again. The things these boys have to endure is beyond him. Sam is still rubbing his jaw in an attempt to erase the pain of the right hook his brother just laid on him. Bobby sees the younger brother look to him with a confused, what the hell look written on his face.<p>

"Sam, you okay? That's gonna leave a nice mark I think."

"Uh, well, might have to get back to you on that one Bobby. Could you fill me in on what the hell just happened? It's all a bit foggy."

"I will Sam, I promise, but first I need to check on your brother. Just stay put and relax for a minute."

"Sure, okay I guess Bobby. Is Dean hurt?"

He doesn't have the heart to fill in all the blanks for Sam right now. Bobby is more concerned at the moment about the lack of smart ass comments and movement from Dean than anything else. Yes Sam, Dean is hurt. Physically and emotionally. But Sam's questions are just going to have to wait.

"That's what I'm gonna find out Sam."

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><p>"Dean, how you doing over there son?"<p>

"Ugh.. just peachy."

Bobby smirks at that. He knows that word. He knows it is Dean's secret code for 'I feel like a sack of shit but I am too damn proud to admit it to anyone'.

"Yeah, that's what I figured tough guy."

The older man shoots one last glance at Sam and gives him the universal sign to stay put. He wants to check Dean out without having Sam there to hover and breathe down his neck. He needs to gauge Dean's mental and physical state alone. Bobby had heard some of the vile words spewed out from Sam's mouth via Meg, intended to cut into the very heart of Dean and, although the older brother will try and sluff it off, the words were bound to have hit home.

Bobby slowly makes his way over to the prone figure on the floor and stares down at him to try and assess his condition. He removes the ballcap from his head, rubs a hand over his weary face and after a slight, not needed adjustment returns the ever present cap to his rightful place.

Dean's features are etched in a tapestry of pain. His eyes are clenched shut. Bobby can see sweat glisten off his skin, eerily illuminated by the firelight that has encompassed the room. His face sports various contusions and abrasions and cuts and nicks and the left side of his face seems to be well on its way to becoming a swollen, painful mess. He hears his breath come out short and fast. And, the final indication that all is not well in Dean Winchester Land is the way his hand is pressed into his injured shoulder with such force that his knuckles are white.

Bobby decides the boy needs some TLC, whiskey, pain meds and a good nights sleep.

"Well, I will cut to the chase Dean. You look like shit. I'd say that demon had one hell of a hard on for you. Heh, you just have a certain something that makes everyone want to beat the shit out of you hey? So, can you open up your eyes for me, let me know you are still in there?"

"B'by... I could but now why would I want to? I'm good right here, no need to fuss over me."

"In case I didn't mention it, before you make an attempt to lie to this old man, please refrain from your tried and true lie... oops I mean tried and true line that you are fine. You look like death warmed over so whether you like it or not you are going to have to suck up the stubborn pride part of your personality and let me help you."

"Bobby..."

"Just humour me smart ass and open up your damn eyes already."

"Alright.. sheesh, just give me a minute mom."

Bobby sees the flicker of eyelids and then rapid blinks as Dean attempts to focus on his surroundings. And, by the looks of those glassy and drifting eyes the effort seems to be failing. Miserably. Those green, unfocused eyes finally seem to hone in as good as they can onto Bobby's gaze and the older man chuckles a bit. He can't help it. He figures that if they were smack dab in a cartoon right now there would definitely be oodles of stars and chirping birds circling around Dean's head.

"Hey Dean? Ready to get up now son?"

"B'by?"

Bobby is starting to get a bit unnerved . It's like Dean is drifting in and out of lucidity and the older hunter isn't sure just what that means. Ah hell, he himself got slammed up against a wall by that ugly wench so maybe he needs to read less into this shit for a change. Dean just needs to have some rest and he'll be fine. Yeah, that's his story and he is sticking to it. After all, the boy did endure a whole shitload of pain by a creature who just happened to take the form of his brother. Of the one person who Dean is willing to do anything for. Hell, Bobby is sure he would lay his life on the line in a heartbeat if it would save his baby brother. So, that kind of stuff has to mess with your mind even if you won't admit it.

"Yeah Dean, it's me. Looks like those eyes of yours are having a hard time focusing on my handsome features. Let me give you the coles notes version of what went down. You went and got your brain scrambled again after going toe to toe with an evil son of a bitch. Ah well, what else is new, just another day at the office for you boys. You Winchesters and your ability to piss off anything and everything must be encoded in the genes. So what do you say we get you up and have a quick look at that hard head of yours to make sure your brain isn't starting to leak out. Oh, and let's not forget about that bullet wound huh? Then, when you get the green light, you can have a nice little rest courtesy of the Singer Hotel. Dean? Earth to Dean. Still with me son?"

"What B'by? Did you say bullet wound?"

"Okay, so you are definitely not the brightest lightbulb right now. That's understandable. We'll have a nice long chat about it later. But right now, do you think you can get up?"

"Sure... 'm fine sir."

"Sir? Huh, well that settles it. You are getting the once over for sure."

Bobby watches for a moment in a wave of disbelief as the idjit at his feet actually starts to try and lift himself up off the ground. All it serves to do is jar his wounded shoulder and drop him like a tonne of bricks back to the floor complete with a moan of pain. And frustration. The kid is a damn idiot sometimes.

"Damn it Dean, stop being such a stubborn ass for once. You don't have to do everything by yourself. Let us help."

Bobby turns to face Sam who has been watching intently from his position on the other side of the room.

"Hey Sam, can you give me a hand with your loopy brother before he hurts his stupid self?"

"Yeah, it's the least I can do."

Oh brother. There's that tone. That 'it's all my fault that this happened' tone. What is it with these stupid ignoramuses and their incessant need to blame themselves for things that are out of their control?

"I'm going to say this once Sam. Cut out the melodramatic shit alright? I know and you know and hell, even your brother knows that it was not you who did this to him. So, just leave the mopey looks out of it okay. Let's make sure Dean is settled and then we can hang out, have a beer and I will fill you in. Got it?"

"Okay Bobby, I got it."

"B'by?"

That didn't sound good. Dean. He sounds scared? That can not be a good sign. The sooner he gets off the damn floor and into a bed the better.

"Dean, why are you whispering?"

"That isn't Sam. I know, I know what you're thinking... it looks like him and sounds like him but it's not him. Don't let on that you know okay? He's possessed. It's Meg, she got him. She just wants to exact a little revenge on me for sending her back to the pit so don't do anything to piss her off, I can handle that on my own. Any idea why the exorcism didn't work?"

Oh Shit.

"Okay, time for you to listen to me real careful like, alright? Meg is gone. We sent her back to Hell. I'm sure she is nice and crispy fried by now."

"NO! This, she came back... she thought it would be fun to see if I would kill my own brother. But she couldn't make me do it Bobby. I knew that Sam was no killer, I beat her at her own twisted game. But she... she told me about dad. She said she saw him there, in Hell. God Bobby, dad is in Hell because of me."

Double Shit.

"Everything okay you two?"

"Woah, relax Dean. You're good. Nothing is gonna hurt you. Meg is gone. Son!"

"B'by, look out! She..she's right behind you.. IT'S ME YOU WANT YOU SKANKY HELL WHORE! LEAVE BOBBY ALONE!"

Damn it. Bobby was really looking forward to that beer.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, worth continuing? Take care and thanks as always for having a look.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**WOW, I have to say that I was not at all expecting such a wonderful response to this story so let me take this opportunity to send out a great big THANK YOU to all of you who have read, reviewed, favourited and alerted this story. I am a little nervous to post this chapter and really hope that it doesn't disappoint! :) I would love to hear your thoughts so feel free to drop me a line and let me know! Thanks again! ENJOY! :)**

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><p>"Bobby, please! What are you waiting for? Get ... get outta here! Get..she...it... damn it, BOBBY! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!"<p>

Shit. Okay, forget the beer. When this is over he's breaking out the damn whiskey.

"Dean, it's okay. She's gone."

"No Bobby. You're wrong."

Dean tries to get up again but is thwarted as his body betrays the commands he sends its way. He lets out a painful hiss and moan before grunting in frustration at his body's apparent lack of response.

Okay, so Dean is totally not dealing at the moment. Bobby would go as far to say he's the dullest knife in the drawer. Either he can't remember what has taken place or his head is so jumbled up that he can't make sense out of what he _does_ remember. Solution? Well, one thing's for sure, the older man needs to convince him that Meg is truly gone or he'll never get that stubborn ass up off the damn floor. Then, maybe he can work on trying to reset the buttons in his brain to a more functional level.

Bobby reaches out a tentative hand to gently take hold of Dean's defensive form but finds he has to react quickly to avoid the same right hook that connected with Sam and gave the younger brother an up close, personal and painful view of Dean's fist. Bobby figures it is pure hunter instincts that allow him to narrowly dodge the blow and help keep his handsome face in tact. With Dean's balance thrown off Bobby reacts instantly to grab hold of the younger man's arms.

Bobby can feel the tautness of the muscles through his hands, the unnatural heat that Dean's body is giving off and the sensation of shivers as they start to crawl along the younger man's form. Perfect, he is getting worse. He tightens his grasp just a fraction to protect himself from a shiner and to protect Dean from causing further injury to his already weakened and recently employed as a demon punching bag body. He figures all of this never ending pile of shit is gonna make for a long and painful night. Figures. These boys really are trying to send him to an early grave.

"Enough Dean. You are the one who is wrong. Just calm down damn it. I really don't want to have to knock some sense into you the old fashioned way. You need to relax, everything is good. You've gone and gotten your damn self hurt again and things probably seem out of sorts and don't make much sense. But I promise you Dean, you are safe. You need to trust me son."

The younger man stops his floundering just long enough for Bobby to catch the look on his face. He is pretty sure that the numerous whacks he took to his head combined with the fever coursing through him and a probable infection from the gunshot wound is wreaking havoc on Dean's ability to rationalize the situation. The look he sees in those fevered eyes tell Bobby that things are just a tad more difficult and confusing right now for Dean that they should be. Okay, maybe more than a tad. Being around this kid for so long Bobby knows Dean always needs to justify things in his own brain instead of taking the word of others. And, when the aforementioned brain is currently in the throes of a major short circuit, well, it ain't gonna be no picnic. Whippty freakin doo.

"Dean, please bro, Bobby's telling the truth. Meg is gone. It's me. I'm back. It's Sam."

Bobby absolutely does not like the snicker he hears from Sam's brother. Not good. At all.

"Yeah right. Fell for that once already bitch and boy oh boy, the fun I had. I really enjoyed the part about my dad. That brings back fond memories for sure. I'm all warm and toasty inside. You know the saying _Sam_, once bitten, twice shy. And man, the bite marks on me... I just, I can't wait to send you back to the pit, you sadistic mother..."

"C'mon Dean, it's me. Please, try and remember."

The softness in that voice makes Bobby sigh softly. He can feel the guilt and sadness and the pain and sorrow stream out in a continuous and unrelenting wave from the man who stands beside him. Sam is desperate to get through to his brother as he watches him wince and shiver in pain on the floor. To Dean. Who looks like he is just about ready to collapse in an unconscious heap. Bobby thinks maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing but also knows it just ain't gonna happen. Not when the boy believes others are in danger. He will fight to keep his guard up just in case he needs to save Bobby's ass. Save everyone else before you dare even contemplate saving yourself. Dean's damn motto is gonna kill him one day. That stubborn streak really, really pisses Bobby off to no end. The stupid, selfless bastard.

The older hunter hears a deep sigh emanate from the younger sibling and adds one of his own into the mix. This whole thing is all kinds of crazy. The way Dean is reacting to the mere sight of his own brother, the fact that he can't tell that he is no longer possessed, is out of some kind of damn science fiction flick. Huh, yeah, it's Invasion Of The Body Snatchers, Winchester style. God, he hates science fiction.

"Sam, you better back up a bit for a second okay. Let me try and work my charms on him. Okay?"

Sam doesn't move. He stands like a statue, his eyes bore into Dean as he seems to try and will him to believe that he is who he says he is.

"Sam? Please son."

Bobby is just about to ask again when he finally sees an almost imperceptible nod. Sam slowly and with some reluctance does what the older hunter asks and takes two steps back.

Bobby is focused on Dean once again and observes him close his eyes for a split second and shake his head briefly before his gaze flutters past Bobby to the figure that stands a few feet behind. The older man has to suppress a slight shiver at the intensity of that look. Even through glazed over eyes Bobby can see it clear as day. The emotion behind them. Hatred. Intense and unflinching. Raw and powerful and down right scary. And it is directed not at him but rather solely on the younger Winchester. On Sam. Or at least on what Dean obviously still perceives as the evil wolf in sheep's clothing. That damn demon. Meg. To Dean, in this moment, she is still parading around in Sam's skin.

Bobby glances to the object of Dean's scathing eyeballs to see how Sam is holding up under the fury displayed within. Even though the younger man doesn't look away, does not avert his eyes from the onslaught of dagger after dagger his brother is currently flinging in a constant procession at him, the older man can still tell. The boy is barely holding it together and has been unsettled right to his core.

And Bobby doesn't blame the younger sibling one damn bit. After all, what's the one place you never, ever want to find yourself in? It's simple really.

You never, ever want to find yourself in the line of fire of Dean Winchester's hate.

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><p><strong>TBC.. Thank you soooo much for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought of it. Thanks again and take care all! <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay. I wrote and rewrote this chapter half a dozen times and am still not sure if I like it. Sometimes life likes to send curve ball after curve ball and it seems when I do get a couple moments to write my mind goes blank. Having said that, I hope that some of you will decide to hang in there even if the updates aren't as quick as I would like. Thanks again for checking it out, feel free to review! :)**

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><p>Okay. This is not good. It is unnatural and more than a bit creepy to witness Dean actually try and bore a hole right through his brother's skull with looks alone. And then there's Sam. A perfect depiction of hurt, guilt, pain and desperation as all those themes show themselves in wave after wave across his brooding face. This scenario is so wrong. On so many levels. The boys are both in pain. They both need help. They both need relief.<p>

So much so that Bobby starts to feel like he is on some crazy, freakish ride on a damn pendulum swing. He looks to Dean. Then Sam. Then Dean. Then Sam. Back and forth he goes. From one tortured Winchester to the other. He sighs for what seems like the hundredth time and wonders when the ride will end. He ain't gettin' any younger and this back and forth shit is gonna give him a headache. Or a pain in the neck. Or maybe in the ass. Damn kids and their damn issues. They can't go more than one day without being subjected to another dose of freakin melodrama. Which in turn means, unfortunately, that neither can Bobby.

Okay then, where was he? Oh yeah, back to Dean he goes.

"Might wanna lay off the death glare sunshine, you don't want to burn out your damn retinas ."

Dean doesn't even acknowledge his statement. Bobby had expected some sort of smart ass remark. Hell, he hoped for one. For some sign that Dean hasn't totally closed himself off. But, of course, you can't always get what you want. So the older hunter starts to look, no, starts to scrutinize the features of the young man's face.

Oh sure, to the average joe he just looks like a real pissed off dude, busy hurling those daggers one after another. Hate and loathing and contempt shooting out of his laser eyes. But Bobby ain't average. And he knows better. He can see a myriad of emotions float across in those glassy green orbs. They come through loud and clear to the man who has known the older sibling since, well, pretty much since forever.

He sees fear. That the demon still has hold of his brother. That she is still there within striking distance, ready to dish out some more physical and mental anguish on the wounded hunter. Fear that he won't be able to play his part of protector because his defenses are down. Fear that what the demon said was the truth. That his dad, his hero, is there. In the pit. But Dean knows better than most that demons only like to tell the truth if it's gonna mess with you. So inside he knows that it is true.

He sees guilt. That he couldn't see the signs as soon as he found Sam again. Guilt that his brother, the one he promised to look out for and protect, was trapped inside his own body. That he was fighting like hell to get out but couldn't break free. That it took too long for him to figure it out.

And guilt. That his own father died to save him. And that his sacrifice has doomed him to an eternity to the pit. That, because of Dean, he was cast down into the depths of Hell. That he is trapped among creatures like that bitch demon.

So, if Dean was unable to protect his father and his brother? Well, Bobby knows in the Dean Winchester book of unreasonable expectations the chapter dedicated to his most important job, the one of protector despite personal sacrifice, now carries the heading of FAILURES emblazed across the top.

Underneath his hands Bobby can feel the tremors start to work their way through Dean's exhausted body. He is a fighter all right but his body is starting to fade under the stress. Damn it. He can't do anything half assed. Bobby releases his hold on the younger man and holds his own arms out in a placating gesture towards the confused hunter at his feet.

"Alright kid, time to cut the shit okay? I know for a fact that you ain't feeling too fricken fantastic and things are all jumbled up in that head of yours. I get it, I do. But you are starting to make me worry, not to mention Sam. Your brother's face over there is gonna get stuck in that perma frown and I know nobody wants to see that."

Nothing.

"You do realize you are panting like a dog right? And I can feel the fire of fever comin' off you. I wouldn't be surprised if I could cook a damn egg on your forehead. And, call me selfish, but I don't want to end up having to carry your unconscious ass up off the floor. All this drama is making this old man tired."

It's about time. Bobby can see a slight tilt of Dean's head towards the sound of his voice but the eyeballs remain firmly planted on Sam.

"Dean? Please son. Look at me."

It seems to take way to long. Bobby is tempted to look at his watch and count the seconds for Dean's swimming vision to slowly move from Sam's image to the vision of the ball cap toting figure right in front of him.

"B'by?"

Now Bobby sees something else dart around in those bleary eyes. Confusion.

"Yeah Dean. That's right. It's me."

The older man has seen enough injuries, too many in his lifetime, to know that Dean is having one hell of a time trying to focus on him, or on anything else for that matter. And he figures he is using all of his strength just to stay conscious.

By the way he closes his eyes and swallows compulsively over and over again, Bobby doesn't have to dust off his degree in rocket science to decipher the signs. Dean is desperately trying to keep the contents of his stomach in check. Cripes. On and on it goes. Bobby wishes he would just pass out already.

Bobby moves slightly to obscure his view of Sam. He needs to get Dean to focus. On him.

"Trust me Dean. Meg is gone. She left the building in a wave of black smoke. I don't wanna boast but she left courtesy of some smart and fast acting brilliance of yours truly. That really is Sam behind me and I am sure that all he wants to do is come over here and check on ya. But you ain't exactly got the Mr. Friendly look displayed right now. He's back son. We got him back. Meg can't hurt him. Or you. Not anymore. Believe me when I say she is feeling the heat down under as we speak. It's over. Okay? Are you back on board son?"

"I trust you B'by.. but don' member... gotta... gotta be sure B'by. Ugh.. I knew... I knew there was somethin' wrong but I...why didn't I figure it out sooner? I could I... I mean I should have known... just... gotta be sure B'by. Can't go through...not again..."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth Dean starts to shift. To inch himself over to try and get one more peek. Another sigh works its way out of Bobby's mouth and he feels like he is finally close to his own edge at the stubbornness of this idjit. But he stops himself when Dean closes his eyes, longer this time, and tries to quell what Bobby can only assume is a brutal wave of dizziness. The damn fool is getting worse. Dean hisses and lets out a pitiful moan and suddenly Bobby wishes the kid would come out with some smart ass comment. He is really starting to miss those right about now.

Dean steels himself, opens his eyes and Bobby watches as he furrows his brow and squints in Sam's direction. Sam. He meets his brother's gaze and holds onto it. Sam's expression is soft and gentle and as he allows a small smile to grace his lips he nods his head. He wants this to be over as much as anyone. He knows his brother is hurting and that the longer and longer this goes on the longer it will take to get him back up and running.

Bobby gazes at the younger Winchester at his rear and thinks it is just eerie the way the two brothers have exactly the same look of confusion and pain displayed across their features. And then it hits him. Bobby want to smack his own dumb self. The end to this whole stand off, this weird showdown is standing not three feet behind him. Bobby mutters a scolding 'jackass' to himself before he turns his attention to Sam.

"Sam, give me your arm."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thank you for stopping by... I appreciate it!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi there and thanks for coming back! I hope this chapter is to your liking! I am having a hard time responding to your reviews, the site is being tempermental, but please believe me when I say THANK YOU SOOOOOO MUCH! I love hearing your thoughts and would love to hear what you think about this latest installment. Thanks again and enjoy!**_

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><p>Although Bobby can sense that Dean's level of trust is on the rise, the reaction he emits tells him he ain't quite there yet. Dean scrambles back on his rear end a few feet in an obvious attempt to clear some distance between them as Sam extends his arm towards Bobby. Dean eyes the prominently displayed symbol that is displayed across his brother's skin and glances to Sam's face before his hazy eyes manage to track over to the older hunter once again.<p>

Bobby feels Dean search his face for confirmation. As if he needs the older man to help fill in the blanks floating around in his head. He needs a guarantee, as if he can't quite believe what his own eyes tell him quite yet. And, speaking of eyes, Bobby takes in the fact that one of those green orbs is well on its way to becoming swollen shut. Balls.

The oldest of the three men gestures towards the arm he now holds in his grasp. "Look Dean. Remember? Exorcism was going along tickety boo until things went a bit off the rails. Damn demon used a binding spell. Powerful shit. Bitch locked herself up good and tight inside Sam here. Cracked my damn ceiling along with the devil's trap and voila, here we are."

Dean's look tells Bobby he is searching his memory banks to confirm the statement. There is a moment of clarity in his face and Bobby sighs out in relief. He gets it. Finally. Better keep going while Dean seems to be focused and tuned in to what he is saying.

"It was a tough nut to crack but no match for a hot poker against the delicate, feminine skin of your brother."

Bobby smiles at the snort his comment illicits from Sam and although he had hoped for a snicker from the older sibling as well, he isn't that surprised when it's not forthcoming. He is now zero for a hundred. Either Bobby needs to work on his sarcasm skills or Dean just can't compute enough right now to appreciate his dry and wickedly amusing wit. Keeping his eyes trained on Dean, Bobby figures it is the latter. Dean is busy just doing what he can to remain conscious and puke free. In fact, by the look of him, it appears Dean is now totally zoned out. He is concentrating so hard on the symbol etched in Sam's flesh that Bobby starts to feel the younger brother squirm under his hand from the intensity of it.

"Dean?"

It's a soft whisper that seems to float down from where Sam stands to his injured brother on the floor.

Finally the two men see the older Winchester tilt his head slightly to meet and lock on to Sam's face.

"S'm? S'mmy?"

It's breathless, strained, full of pain and emotion but Bobby can't help but mutter a quiet Halle-freakin-luiah to himself. He feels a tug on his hand but before he lets go of Sam's arm he meets his gaze. He lets out a soft 'take it slow' to the youngest brother. Bobby can sense the urgency Sam has to get closer to Dean and convince him he is back but, because Dean has been a bit unpredictable, he is concerned that the slightest unexpected movement could spook him. They can not afford to take three steps back. He watches Sam slowly nod before he turns to face his brother.

"Hey Dean. Yeah, it's me man. It's me."

The gentleness in that voice reminds Bobby again of the unmatched devotion these two brothers share. It is a blessing to know that someone is there for you no matter what but it always seems, at least for these two, that it is also a curse. To be so committed to another person and willing to sacrifice everything for them is the thing that demons and monsters and the devil himself dream of. Something so beautiful can be used over and over again to make these boys suffer. And they do. Too much. It's a damn shame.

In an instant the fight that had kept Dean rigid, ready to fight to the end, to face that demon again gives like a damn that held back a raging current. His shoulders sag and his head dips slightly as the reality that his brother is actually there seeps in to his muddled brain. Now that he is convinced his brother is safe and out of harm's way he can start to lower his defenses. Bobby hears the injured man sigh and mutter something under his breath that he can't quite hear.

Dean's head raises again to look at his brother. Closer and closer Sam moves in and as Dean closes his eyes once more Bobby witnesses something he hasn't seen since this whole nightmare began. A small, genuine small graces his wounded face and Bobby knows. Somehow they will all get out of this in one piece. That Dean is still in there. That as hard as they try, as long as he still has Sam, those demons will never totally break him.

The smile is all the younger Winchester needs as his cue and he kneels down beside his brother and gently touches his arm.

Dean's eyes flutter open at the contact. Well, one eye is open and the other is just a small slit. Ain't that just peachy. One more wound on a mound of many for Dean to agonize through. But, as Bobby watches the look that passes from Dean's bleary gaze to Sam's relieved one, he knows that Dean doesn't care. His brother is with him again. He is whole. And any amount of pain and injuries are worth that in Dean's mind. Dumb ass.

"S'm? Just.. thank God. You...k? Arm? Bet hurts like son of... bitch..."

Bobby can only imagine the sigh that comes out of Sam at that moment but he can't hear it because it is busy being overshadowed by his own. Typical. This is what gets Dean into these damn situations in the first place. Sacrificing himself for others. Too busy worrying about everyone else to give one shit about his own well being. It is going to kill him one day.

Sam just stares at Dean in astonishment. Bobby can see him swallow as he undoubtedly tries to contain the bubbling urge to smack his brother one.

"Huh. Am I okay? You really are something man. Uh, yeah Dean. I'm fine. I'm not the one who looks like they went ten rounds with a damn crowbar. I mean, can you even see?"

So that's all it takes? Amazing. Here Bobby has been trying and trying to get a reaction from Dean but all it takes is one stupid comment from Sam to have him smirking like an idiot. Ah hell, Bobby will just take it as a sign that Dean is back with them.

"Just.. jealous. Still... better lookin'... than you... Sasquatch... should see.. other guy..."

Bobby hears it for what it is. An attempt at humour to get all eyes away from him. To tell them that he is okay and not to waste time worrying about him. But, the attempt falls pathetically short. As if on cue, before Bobby can call him on his level of bullshit, right when Dean is trying to send the two men one of his killer wattage smiles, the older brother's face contorts into a mask of pain. His hand flies up to grip his shoulder and he clenches his teeth and hisses through them.

No hiding the fact. It's confirmed. Again. What Bobby has already become acutely aware of. When the idiot can't even string three words together without gasping for air and breaking out in a sweat; when he can't suppress the winces and moans from coming out, you know it's serious. And Dean's usual I'm fine line of bullshit just ain't gonna fly this time.

The two uninjured men exchange a quick glance and Bobby can see the worry ratchet up on Sam's face. Bobby decides to try a more subtle approach to get Dean to fess up to the pain he is so obviously in.

"Uh, somehow I doubt that son. You got the worst of the tango this time around. You sure do have a way with..."

Bobby stops mid sentence as he sees a darkness creep its way along the older sibling's face. Damn it. Dean can not afford to slip back into the guilt and regret of whatever the hell he thinks he is responsible for in this fiasco.

Bobby flinches in surprise and can sense the same reaction from Sam as Dean reaches out with lightning speed and grabs hold of the arm of his brother. Bobby is amazed at this sudden show of strength that obviously neither he nor Sam believed Dean had left in him. Bobby watches Sam gently place his own hand on his brother's and look to him with a questioning glance.

"Sry S'm... God... for everythin'... should of... I mean... should of... stopped... and dad... sorry... so... s..sorry S'my."

No, no, no. Bobby is NOT letting this happen. He needs to nip this in the bud and quick. Dean has got like a vice grip on his brother's arm and he is searching frantically in Sam's gaze to get the absolution he doesn't even think he deserves. Dean's body does not need the stress of this shit and Bobby can see his whole form start to shake. Rivets of sweat start to run down his face and his breath is coming out fast and ragged. Too fast. Bobby looks to Sam and almost growls out in frustration. Sam. He is looking at Dean and Bobby swears he sees damn tears in his eyes. Don't fold Sam. Not now.

Bobby continues to watch as Sam's own grip on his brother tightens and the older man fights the urge to smack both of them across the face to snap them out of it. These two idiots do not need to get into a heart to heart on the god damn floor, the same one that Bobby has spent what seems like hours trying to extricate Dean from. There is nothing on this earth like the Winchester boys to get the old man worked up enough to raise his blood pressure to a dangerous level. These boys are gonna give him a damn heart attack.

"Save it Dean. You are not taking the blame for this one man. I'm back bro, thanks to you. You saved me just like you always do. Nothing to be sorry for."

Okay, well, Bobby almost feels bad for thinking that Sam would cave and go head first into his 'better talk to Dean while Dean is actually talking' routine.

"But...S'm...I..."

"Dean, just stop. You have nothing to apologize for. I... I'm the one who's sorry man. I still. I can't believe it. I actually... I mean... I shot you."

"Not your fault.. S'm.. I should of... figured it out... my... fault..."

And there it is. Bobby's balloon has officially burst. His last frayed nerve has just popped and he is sure if either of them glanced his way they would die instantly from the look in his eye. Unbelievable. Sure, Bobby had kinda forgot that Sam himself has a shitload of guilt swarming around him but why in the hell would he pick this moment to start in about it? And Dean. Don't get him started. It's his fault that the demon shot him? Please. Idiot.

Well, that's okay. Bobby knows how to reign these two in. Nothing like a pissed off elder to scare the shit out of them and get them to focus back on the matter at hand. Mindful of the killer headache he is sure Dean must be contending with, Bobby takes in a deep breath. And another. He takes a moment to cool his jets and opens his mouth to begin to approach the topic in a calm and rational voice.

"ENOUGH! Are you two trying to piss me off because if so, bravo, you have succeeded! You two are the most annoying, stupid, frustrating couple of self hating idjits I know!"

Whew. Okay, well maybe he wasn't as calm as he tried to be but judging by the reaction of the brothers Bobby can't stop now. This is exactly what these two need to hear.

"Dean, you are idjit number one for thinking that you could have actually prevented ANY OF THIS! I already know what you are thinking. You failed your dad. You failed Sam. You are the one who somehow got yourself shot. You should have known. You should have done something. You are not to blame son. You need to let it go. Your dad made his choice and you couldn't have changed that. And your brother got possessed but there is nothing you could have done to stop it. You are human. And you are hurt. So put a sock in it already!"

Man, Bobby never realized how empowering this could be. One down and one to go. He is definitely on a roll. Sam is about to say something, probably wants to agree with him, but he ain't gettin' off that easy.

"And you Sam, AKA idjit number two. For the love of... why oh why would you just add fuel to the Dean is the cause of everything in the world fire? He is looking for reasons to hate and blame himself and you are just adding more wood to the inferno. Your guilt just feeds the flame son. Do I really need to spell it out for ya? He wants to take the blame for everything so just stop talking! Why would you start to talk now, especially when your dumb ass brother is on the verge of.. Hell, I don't know, complete physical and mental collapse?"

Huh. Now Bobby is the one whose breath has sped up. Damn kids get the best of him more times than he would care to admit. He looks from one brother to the other and they both look like they are suffering from shock. Good. Nothing like seeing Bobby Singer close to a meltdown to get his damn point across. He raises his hands as a warning that he ain't quite done yet.

"I ain't finished. Listen, you two ignoramuses, you can BOTH save it! No one is to blame here. No one except a BLACK HEARTED BITCH who crawled her way back up just to mess with you. And you are falling for it hook, line and sinker. Don't let her win. Understand? I mean, do I make myself perfectly clear boys?"

He stops long enough to catch another breath and wait for each Winchester son to give him a nod.

"Good. Now look, in case you haven't noticed I'm getting a bit grumpy. I am craving a beer and on top of that, I am too damn tired to listen to any more of your blah blah blah bullshit. So, let's just agree to keep the self loathing to a minimum and move on. Clear?"

Bobby praises himself a bit when he hears a stereo version of 'Yes sir' greet his ears and he savours the moment. Silence from both of them. Ah, much better.

"Right. Okay then. Sam, let's get Dean over to the table. He looks like shit."

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><p><em><strong>TBC.. Thanks for stopping by! Remember, reviews make the heart feel good. ;)<strong>_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Hi there! Thank you for coming back, I hope that you will enjoy this latest chapter. Sorry for the delay, let's just suffice it to say due to technical glitches in my wonderful computer I have had to re-type this chapter at least four times from scratch (my computer decided not to save any of my work). But, better late than never I guess! :)**_

_**Anywho, I would absolutely LOVE to hear your thoughts on this chapter, they really make my day! Thanks again for all who have read and to those who have sent reviews, I appreciate it very, very much! ENJOY! :)**_

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><p>"<em>Right. Okay then. Sam, let's get Dean over to the table. He looks like shit."<em>

"Wow...that's just...B'by, I didn't know you cared...I'm all warm and toasty inside..."

Bobby can't help but smirk at Dean's smart ass comment. At least his mind is back with them and not still fighting that demon bitch. At least he's got enough energy to be a royal pain in the ass. But, just as quickly as that smirk showed itself on Bobby's face it falls, dissipates into the air when Dean exhales sharply and accompanies that with an anguished sounding groan.

Damn it. Bobby can't believe he just got sucked into the Dean bullshit vortex. He ain't fine. He ain't peachy. Hell, he ain't himself. Bobby admonishes himself; he should have known better. Dean is just doing what he always does; putting on his usual act; sticking to his usual routine of sarcasm; hoping no one will notice the pile of shit he is currently swimming in; sticking to his mantra of being fine just to lessen their worry quotient about him. Bobby, you damn idjit.

"Alright wise ass. Ready? Time to move."

Bobby eyes Dean warily and intently. He sees him silently prepare for the onslaught of pain he knows he is about to be flooded by. Dean's eyes are shut; he works hard to maintain some semblance of calm in his ragged breaths; and he grinds his teeth as he fights off another crest of pain.

Bobby waits patiently until he hears a soft 'yeah' float its way up to him from the man on the floor. With one look to Sam, the two men brace Dean's battered and bruised body to start the ascent. Bobby grimaces when, as hard as the wounded hunter tries, even he cannot stifle a deep throated, painful moan from escaping him as he is slowly raised from the ground.

"son…bch…that was…fun…"

Dean lifts a shaky hand to swipe across his brow. The older man's concern ratchets up a notch or two when Dean looks at the sweat that now shimmers on his fingertips as if he's never seen something like that before. Along with the weirdness of that scene, Bobby also doesn't like the fact that whatever colour had managed to remain on Dean's face has quickly drained away, making the cuts and bruises and swollen flesh stand out and say hello. His whole face must be on fire, and Bobby knows it must hurt like a wicked son of a bitch.

He doesn't know how Dean does it. How he can even stand up let alone still be conscious at this stage of the game. Any 'normal' man would have been down for the count a hell of a lot sooner than this. As Bobby's gaze tracks towards Sam however, the reason becomes crystal clear. Sam is worried. Sam is hovering. Sam is feeling guilty and responsible. And Dean knows it. He can read it all over his younger sibling's face; can hear it in the sighs and pitch of his voice; can read it through his movements. And Dean will do whatever he can for as long as he can to alleviate all of those things; to make his baby brother feel better; to carry on with the show as long as it takes; to do whatever he can to prove that he ain't feeling half as bad as he looks, even though each man in the room knows he ain't fine at all.

Bobby and Sam keep a gentle hold on Dean and wait him out as he tries to get his bearings. They eye each other from across his back as he teeters and sways on unstable and wobbly legs. Dean ain't saying anything, just keeps his eyes closed and Bobby can see his adams apple start to bob up and down in a far too rapid motion for his liking. Shit. Bobby knows it for what it is, the signs are speaking to him with neon brightness.

The rebellion within Dean's body has started. It is a precursor; his body is busy gearing him up for the quick expulsion of his stomach contents. Sure, Dean is fighting the good fight; doing his damndest to keep his insides where they belong, but even Dean Winchester cannot hold out under the constant strain. In the end, Bobby knows, the body will win out over the mind every single time.

But wait. Huh. What do you know. The compulsive swallowing starts to taper off and Bobby is dumbstruck. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Dean is strong enough to stop it. And when the wounded hunter tries to shake off the hands that are likely the only things tethering him; that are keeping him from crashing back down to the ground in a heap, Bobby guffaws again at the power of mind over body. At _Dean's_ mind over _Dean's_ body. At his ability to bury and shut off the signals that his body must be sending him in droves. At Dean's resolve not to give in. At the effort it must take to control his body.

"guys…m'mgood…ged…off…"

Bobby hears an exasperated, you have got to be kidding me noise emanate from Dean's brother. Bobby can't imagine how irritating all this must be for Sam. Hell, Bobby's own patience left him hours ago but at least he doesn't have to spend every day with this ass. Sam on the other hand has to deal with this show every single time Dean gets hurt on a hunt. And, from the way he hears it, that happens a hell of a lot. Sam rakes a hand through his hair and comes around to look Dean directly into that one working eyeball of his.

"Bro, not buying your bullshit man. Why do you always do this? We all know the act Dean, been there, done that, more times than we can count. What is it with you huh? Your constant, totally unhealthy approach to things? You are strong Dean, I get it, but you can't take care of this on your own. For shit's sake, let us help you! Just how far do you think you'll…"

"Back. Fff. S'm."

The strength in those words surprises even Bobby. The unyielding stubbornness of this 100% certified idjit continuously amazes him. He can see that Sam is starting to seethe. His skin is turning an unpleasant shade of red and he is probably just one smart ass comment away from giving Dean a tongue lashing of epic proportions. And Sam is right. There is no arguing that Dean has got the unreasonable need to exude a sense of strength no matter what the situation. But in this particular instance it is failing miserably and is teetering into the realm of ridiculousness.

It looks silly. Dean and Sam are having a stare down. Sam has got the pissed off look down to an art and Dean? Well, his one eye is doing a good job but points have got to be taken off his score for the side of his face that has ballooned into a swollen mess. Bobby stares on and sighs audibly when he realizes that this is getting them nowhere. And fast. He knows Dean well enough to realize he ain't gonna budge, well, not as long as he still has the energy to stay on his feet.

As much as he wants to throttle the kid himself, Bobby reminds himself that perhaps he ain't functioning with a fully working brain and that fact will just keep Dean placed precariously on edge and ready to fight. And that is the last thing he, or any one of them needs right now.

Bobby decides it's better to give the illusion of victory in the battle in order to avoid dealing with a full, blown out war. Bobby clears his throat to draw Sam's attention away from his brother and shakes his head. He gives Sam the 'we'll just play along with the Dean charade for a couple more minutes until his body caves' kind of look. He can tell that Sam doesn't like it, not one damn bit, but that the younger of the two brothers knows that Bobby is right. Sam steps back from the showdown and acquiesces, although Bobby knows unwillingly, to the usual Dean façade.

"Yeah, sure Dean. Whatever man. Go ahead."

Bobby releases his own grip from Dean's arm and watches the older sibling take an unassisted and wavering step forward. And then he stops. His throat is at it again and the older man can tell Dean's body has decided it ain't gonna cave to his commands this time. It has its own agenda and is definitely seconds away from showing its revolt. In a nasty, putrid kind of way.

Bobby scours the room quickly, his eyes darting around the contents held close by. He sends out a silent thank you to who or whatever decided to place a trash can in such a convenient location when he spots it just behind Dean's younger brother.

"Sam, behind you. Hurry."

There is a slight question mark in the younger Winchester's face but he follows Bobby's lead and turns around without a word. When he sees the item that the older man had eyed, Bobby can almost see the light bulb go on in the floppy haired youngster's noggin. Bobby hears him emit a soft 'shit' in a whispered voice before he snatches up the can and places it near his brother. Only then it seems does the younger man notice the same tell tale physical signs that Bobby just read himself in Dean's body language. Sam's face contorts in sympathy and guilt at the sudden realization that Dean is in for yet another round of discomfort and awkwardness.

"M'fine…don' need…"

Un-fricken-believable. Bobby and Sam exchange looks for what seems to be the hundredth time. They are both speechless at the unrelenting bullshit that has steamed up the entire house. They don't say a word but each watch as Dean proceeds to try and take one more step. As soon as his foot hits the floor his knees buckle and he begins his steady decline towards the floor. Bobby watches the scene play out but he seems to be stuck in some sort of slow motion. Neither man can reach Dean fast enough as they both witness him drop like a stone, using his arms to break his fall.

The expletives that fly uncensored from Dean's mouth would make even the most rugged man blush. Dean rises up on his knees to clutch at his wounded shoulder and Bobby winces at the pain that must be pulsating there after having been jarred from Dean's unceremonious impact with the floor. It also confirms to the older hunter that the injury is wreaking havoc on Dean's already stressed and worn out body.

That last flare of pain is all it takes for any remnants of resolve to expel themselves out of Dean's body along with anything and everything he has ingested over the last day. Sam barely manages to get a hold of his brother and place the bucket in his vicinity before Dean starts heaving and swearing and groaning and sweating and shaking for all he is worth.

Bobby doesn't interfere, he knows the brothers well enough to leave them be. Sam is there to help Dean ride out the waves of nausea and frustration and pain. Sam talks gently into his brother's ear; reminds him that it will be over soon; that Sam is there; that he isn't going anywhere; that everything is going to be okay; that he knows it hurts but that it is almost done.

Bobby feels like he is intruding on a personal moment between the boys. Sure, there may be puking and gasping and maybe a tear or two involved but still, no one on earth can comfort these two like they can each other. Many a person would be envious of the closeness of these two.

Slowly the heaves begin to subside but Sam keeps his hand firmly on his brother's back; acting as the anchor that Dean can hold on to while he works to settle the storm that rages through his body.

"Dean? You done?"

Dean gazes up to his brother and blinks in rapid succession as if to clear his unfocused eyes. He gives his brother a slight nod in affirmation and when Bobby watches Sam's eyes drift towards him, he approaches the pair of brothers once again.

"Easy son. Just take it easy. And for the love of pete, please, no more heroics. No more 'I'm fine'. No more crap alright? I am way too old for this. Your brother and I have reached our bullshit threshold so we are gonna lift you up and get you over to the table. No ifs, ands, buts, or any other variations of B.S. about it right?"

"How can…I refuse…why didn't you say so…first place?"

"Smart ass idjit. Up you get."

Bobby can feel the heat pouring off the wounded man's body. He can feel it on the skin of his neck; through the fabric of his clothes. And when he sees Sam glance his way, Bobby knows Sam can feel it to. Bobby didn't think it was possible but Dean's brother looks even more worried than he did moments ago. The burn of Dean's skin against his brother's hand can be thanked for that.

"God Bobby, he's burnin' up."

Bobby is on the verge of sending Sam an eye roll worthy of any that Dean has ever thrown his way but thinks the better of it when the concern in those damn eyes of his seem to bore right into him.

"Yeah, I know Sam. I feel it too. He's got a world class fever raging on it that stubborn body of his I bet. Damn gunshot wound must be infected."

"M'fine…"

"I know son, of course you are, but just humour an old man would ya?"

Bobby knows the situation has just gone from bad to worse when he only gets a grunt in response. And by the fact that he and Sam practically have to drag him the rest of the way to the kitchen. And by the fact that all the while he can feel Dean shiver and shudder under his grip.

Just another night in Winchester paradise. Balls.

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><p><em><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by and checking this out! :)<strong>_


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello there. I hope you will enjoy this next chapter, sorry it took a while to post, life interrupts me pretty much daily ;) Thanks to those of you who are following along and the reviews are awesome to receive! THANKS! Please, I would love to get your feedback on this chapter so feel free to drop me a line. Now, on with the story...**

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><p>The two men guide Dean's failing body onto one of the chairs in the kitchen but keep a light hold of him while they try to gauge if he is even able to stay seated on his own steam. Bobby peers at him from under the camouflage of his ever present ball cap and can see that the injured man's eyes are still screwed shut, he is still shaking like a freakin leaf, and the fine sheen of sweat still covers his face.<p>

The change in altitude seems to stir something in the hunter however; seems to bring him back from whatever haze he had been engulfed within as he slowly peels open his working eye. Bobby watches as Dean first looks to him with uncertainty; then to Sam; and then to their hands, which each just happen to be attached to a different area of his body. Bobby has a grip on his shoulder and Sam is clamped down on his side. And from the looks of things, he ain't liking either of those invasions one little bit.

"What? G..g..god, all thisss… at..at..attention over some puke? S..some k'nd of int..int..intervention? M'good now… It was… it just…"

Bobby and Sam exchange a quick glance as another shiver rattles through Dean's frame hard enough to stop him in mid sentence. But, as per usual, the stubborn idiot ain't gonna just come right out and admit to nothin'.

"Um… it's been a l…long day ya know?"

As the shivers seem to subside for the moment, the bravado of this world class idjit in front of them goes into high gear, and Dean ain't about to let his moment of clarity just walk on by without milking it for all it's worth. He turns to Sam and lets 'er rip.

"So please Sam, quit your damn hovering already. I'm fine. Just a little sick, nothing to get you panties in a knot about. No need to tighten up the…umm…"

And just like that the young man's moment of clarity seems to have taken off on the train to nowhere-ville, leaving Dean scrambling to try and come up with the punch line to his 'at Sam's expense' jibe. Bobby sees a smile creep along Dean's swollen face as if the light bulb has turned on and he is back on full power. At least he thinks he's funny.

"Yeah, right, no need to tighten up the apron strings on your mother hen…uh… apron?"

Okay, enough.

"Look Dean, quit the act okay? You're all over the place, you ain't making much sense and I don't even think you can manage to stay on this damn chair yourself! So quit the cocky, nothing is wrong with me cascade of damn bullshit and shut the hell up for once!"

Huh. It usually takes a bit more of Dean's pain in the ass-ness to get Bobby worked up to this degree. He takes the cap off his head and runs a hand through his thinning hair. When he looks back to the boys he sees a 'way to go' look emanate from Sam but Dean? He's not sure what he sees, what with the dried blood and freakishly puffed out flesh. One damn thing is for sure, the smile has disappeared from his face. Damn it Bobby, you can't afford to lose your cool.

When Dean practically rips Bobby's hand from his arm, the emotion Dean is working to portray to him rings through loud and pretty fricken clear. He is pissed off. Before Bobby can get one word out Dean is already busy wrenching Sam's hand away from his side. By the time his little show is over Dean is breathing hard again and looks to be fighting another wave of light headedness. Sam moves in with steely determination on his face but the older of the brothers lifts up his hand and shows him his distinctive 'don't you dare touch me Sam' signal.

And with that stubborn, piece of crap show of resistance and utter defiance, the two uninjured hunters watch the damn idiot actually try to stand up, with the emphasis on the word try. Dean lists to one side, blinks in an effort Bobby assumes is to clear his blurry vision, and fails to move quick enough to grab the side of the table before he starts to head face first over the edge. But Sam is ready. He has been through this play before. He moves fast and although he does manage to prevent his brother from cracking that hard skull of his on the linoleum, it comes with a painful price. Dean practically howls as pressure is forced onto his shoulder. Sam grimaces himself but is undeterred and finishes the job to get his older sibling situated again onto the chair.

If Dean looked like shit before, well, he looks even worse now. He grits his teeth and pushes air out in an effort to gain control of his burning shoulder. Bobby can see the guilt on Sam's face but he didn't have a choice. It would have been a hell of a lot worse if Dean would have landed on his arm or met the floor with his stupid face.

"Dean? I'm sorry bro, you were going down, I didn't have time to pick an uninjured spot. Hell, you probably don't have too many of those right now anyways."

Sam is going for the lighthearted approach as he tries to joke his way out of the pain he caused. Bobby wants to hear a snarky response to that comment as much as the young brother does but it's like Dean didn't even hear it.

"S'kay S'mmy. Not that bad…. Maybe I'll just s..sit a spell. Musta got up too fast."

Bobby thinks he can hear it then. The snap. The cord around Sam's patience finally being cut. When he looks up to the younger man he suddenly feels sorry for his older brother. Sam may not have as short of a fuse as Dean, but God help you when it finally lights up. Bobby opens his mouth to try and stop it but the glare that he actually gets from the young man makes his mouth close with a pop. And it's true, Bobby just had a moment not unlike this and he couldn't hold it in either. So okay then, let it out son so we can move along in this never ending song and dance number.

"Dean! Just stop it!"

Dean flinches at the sound and Bobby worries if the kid is actually with them, in the here and now. His head is bowed and his eyes are clamped shut again. Okay, Sam's tongue lashing is gonna have to wait, this ain't gonna help things any.

"Sam?"

Bobby tries to get his attention but it is clear that Sam ain't listening right now. Bobby watches him stalk back and forth across the floor, his hands digging through his hair and his face reddened with frustration.

"Cut out the macho bullcrap already! Can you do that? Huh? Just once in your damn life? You are..you are unbelievable, you know that?"

"Sam!"

No dice, hell, Sam ain't even looking at the two other men anymore, it's like he is shouting out to the empty room instead. Bobby isn't sure if it's because he is so wound up, or if he is lost in memories of the past or what, but he keeps talking and Dean keeps inching back in his chair.

"Are you so full of guilt and I don't know what else that you think you don't deserve to be helped? EVER? DO YOU? I can't take this shit anymore! Enough already!"

Bobby is riveted to Sam as he paces across the floor. When he looks away and towards Dean again he has one of his hands held tightly against his ear and he seems to be rocking in the chair. He definitely ain't with the program anymore.

"SAM! STOP IT! NOW IS NOT THE TIME!"

The younger Winchester finally stops and faces the owner of the voice. Faces Bobby. And the look on Bobby's face must say it all. The redness that plagued Sam's skin subsides and his gaze drifts over to his brother. His stubborn, smart assed brother who now looks like he will crumble into a million pieces if a gentle breeze happens to wash over him right now.

"Shit… Dean…" The words are whispered and Bobby can feel the guilt burn its way through Sam.

"Sam, just relax, he's okay. Try to remember that he is burning up and I doubt he even realizes how sick he is. I know you are frustrated, welcome to the club, but you need to rein it in for now son because you ain't helping your brother, or yourself. Now stop pouting about it and help me. Grab an icepack out of the freezer."

"But..."

"No buts Sam. Do it alright? I've got him, he's okay. Please, just get the icepack."

Bobby sees the momentary hesitation on the younger man's face but when the older hunter looks to Dean's swollen face and back to Sam, the younger sibling just nods grimly and toddles off to the freezer, his guilt firmly intact. Damn brothers and their damn issues.

"Dean? Shit kid, you're a mess."

"Need…t…t…ta work 'n…bed..d…side…mnner B..B..b'by… s'cold… not pay…p..power…bill?"

Okay. This could work in their favour. Maybe in Dean's mixed up, muddled brain he has forgotten about what just happened. Bobby can't believe he is actually hoping that is the case. After all, Dean is shivering and fading and starting to ramble and babble on which makes Bobby think even more so that the kid has got a major infection running through him. And it's either gonna make things run smoother cuz he won't be able to put up a fight, or, and more likely, it'll make him even more ornery than usual what with all the attention and helping hands he is about to be bombarded with. Please, please let it be the former.

"B'by? Did…d..did Sam… leave? Is…he's gone isn't he? Cuz… me…my fault… dad…"

Ah hell, so much for this being easy. Bobby should know better by now. Dean raises his head to meet his gaze and Bobby can see tears. Tears. Dean is in tears. Only one thing can get to the kid like this, and it always comes down to the loss and pain of family. Well, that and having the crap beat out of him. Before Bobby can formulate a response, Sam returns and hands the icepack to him.

"Here Bobby. Uh, Dean? Are you okay man? Ouch, your face looks, well, it looks worse than it did two minutes ago. I didn't think that was possible bro."

Sam ends his comment with a chuckle that Bobby knows isn't genuine. It's obvious that Sam just wants to forget his tirade too and hopes for the same thing Bobby did just moments ago. That Dean won't remember it. Sorry Sam, no such luck. Winchesters, right?

Dean stares at Sam. Doesn't blink; doesn't speak; just stares. He swallows and sighs and finally ends his gaze to stop and pinch the bridge of his nose. The two other men just hold their breath and wait because neither of them have any idea what is running through the injured man's head.

"Dean?"

"S'mmy? Still.. here?"

"Yeah, of course I'm still here. Gotta make sure you're okay right?"

"Oh..yeah…right… good… here. That's good S'm."

"Dean. Listen son. Sam's gonna keep the icepack on ya while I grab some gear. We need to clean out the gunshot, I got a bad feelin', actually, I know it's infected and is what's causing your fever."

"I…I don' got fver B'by…"

Dean Winchester's bullshit knows no bounds. Bobby can practically hear him drone away in his head. 'Maybe I can't see out of one eye but I'm still the best shot around'; 'So what if I can't stop shaking, I just drank a little too much coffee today.'; 'What? You know that grazes always bleed like crazy, it's just a damn flesh wound.'; 'I'm not dizzy, I just got up to fast. Relax.' Bobby sighs. Loudly.

"Wanna try that again boy?"

"jus' need bl…blanket…'n whiskey…warm then….."

"Well that ain't gonna happen son. No booze for a while yet. Okay? Dean?"

Okay, now what is this idjit doing? He's looking at his shoulder. And then at Sam. Then back to his shoulder. And is doing so with an utterly confused look on his face. That can't be good.

"Huh."

"What you looking at son?"

"S'm?"

"Right here bro, what's up?"

"Why…why did you shoot me?"

Crap. Bobby sighs again, after all, haven't they already been down this damn road already?"

"Sam didn't shoot you son, it was Meg. Remember?"

"Huh, Meg. Right…skanky whore bitch demon, yeah.. member… uh, s'ry s'm… Head…fuzzy."

Thank God for that. The last thing Bobby wanted to do is deal with that whole pile of shit again. He watches as Dean focuses on him. Well, tries to anyways, that green eye is looking more like a slit now, and Bobby knows he ain't really seeing squat.

"Hey..hey b'by?" The older man leans in a bit closer to the injured man. "I… hate demons. They, they piss me off! Wait… demons. Demons!"

Panic is what Bobby sees in Dean's features next. He reaches out and grabs the wounded man by the wrist. His eyes are as wide as he can manage and they dart around the room, they scan every corner before they land on his younger brother again.

"We gotta go! C'mon Sam! There's no time, we gotta go!"

Sam approaches slowly and kneels down to look Dean in the face at his level. "Where Dean? Where do we have to go?"

Dean sighs, a signal to the other two of his rising agitation, as if they should know what the hell he is talking about. His chest heaves and Bobby can sense his frustration; at the way the other two men are a little too slow on the uptake.

"C'mon Sam, you know where! You couldn't have forgotten! Not you!"

Bobby and Sam look at each other and then back at Dean.

"The yellow eyed demon Sam? Ring any bells? He's…it's… getting away! We need… we have to find it! It's… the only thing that matters! It… it killed… killed… mom… and… Jess… and dad…."

"Dean…"

"We can't just sit around this damn table and relax! We have to move… NOW! It's… it's gonna get away! Please Sam! Please!"

Dean's breaths are ragged, his eyes are wild and they plead with his brother to listen to him. "P...p...please S'my." Before Sam or Bobby can figure out just how they are going to convince him that it is just the fever raging through him that is causing his confusion, Dean's eyes close and he sags back in his chair, out cold.

Bobby knows it ain't a nice thing to think but hell, he is actually tickled pink that Dean's body finally won out cuz he wasn't looking forward to forcing him to stay put.

"Let's take advantage of this Sam. Let's get him to the couch and hope to hell he doesn't wake up in the middle of us working on him. Damn idjit is liable to think we're torturing him or some damn thing. Sam? You okay?"

"No Bobby, I'm not."

That kinda surprises the older man but it's obvious Sam is done talking as he takes one side of his pliable brother and waits for Bobby to do the same. The two men work in silence as they carry Dean's limp form towards the living room and deposit him on the sofa.

Sam heads back without a word to the kitchen and appears next with icepack in hand. He places it gently on his brother's face and sighs when Dean moans in response. He doesn't wake but he isn't at peace either as creases of pain make their way like some kind of bizarre roadmap across his features.

Bobby leaves the area and two brothers for the moment to gather up his gear to repair and flush out the infected wound. He stops when he hears Sam's voice from outside the living room.

"C'mon Dean, you gotta fight this bro. We'll get that yellow eyed sack of shit, I promise, you'll see, but I can't do it alone. I need you. You and I are in this together right? I just, I wish you would let me in, just a little bit. You need to let me help you, just once okay? Time to let me look out for you, please Dean, can you let me do that?"

Bobby clears his throat to give Sam a moment to compose himself. The older man doesn't comment on what he heard but rather places a comforting hand on the young brother's shoulder. Sam's eyes meet his and Bobby can see the shimmer of unshed tears still confined within them.

"Ready son? I'm gonna need your help here."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good Bobby. What do you need me to do?"

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by. Take a moment to review if you feel the urge... :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello and thanks for coming back! This is kind of a short-ish chapter, I had the urge to write one for this story so this is what my mind came up with in the middle of the afternoon. I hope my next chapter will be quick in coming so I also hope you will decide to stick around! Thank you to all who have read and double thanks for those who have taken the time to review, I appreciate it enormously! Enjoy!**

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><p>Sure, both men know that Dean is dealing with an infection of huge proportions, and by his confusion and other symptoms they figure it has messed with him big time. But the sight that greets them when they finally manage to peel away the confines of layers of material to expose Dean's shoulder and infamous bullet wound? Well, turns out it is beyond, way beyond what either of them had anticipated.<p>

Bobby searches Dean's face for any sign that the man is going to wake; that he knows what the hell is going on or about to happen. There has been a string of shivers and groans and a moment or two of tossing and turning since he was placed on the couch, but his face still displays the look of someone who is out for the count; delirious from fever and fatigue. But at this particular moment Bobby is glad, actually, ecstatic would be a better term, that Dean remains passed out.

His eyes drift from the injured hunter's face to the wound that has be the catalyst for their current melodrama, and it's like it is taunting him. It screams out 'Hey, infection running rampant here!' Bobby shakes his head and lets out the smallest of chuckles, so soft that there is no evidence that Sam even heard it. Bobby rubs a weary hand across his face. He thought he may be on the verge of exhaustion before and now he is sure of it; after all, he don't recall ever hearing the inner voice of a damn wound before; they don't usually have a conversation with you. Bobby clears his throat and tries his analyzing skills again.

The injury is bad, of that he has no doubt. The skin around the perimeter of the wound is crimson, and Bobby doesn't need to actually touch it to know it's hot; he can feel the heat emanate from it without the need for physical contact. But, and of course, the fun doesn't stop there. The tissue within the three inches surrounding it may not be red, but it sure is on its way. If Bobby was a little more feminine he might say it was currently sporting a dusty rose shade or some damn thing. Focus here Bobby, rein those rambling thoughts running through your head in; if you decide to take a tour on the crazy train that ain't gonna help Dean any.

The wound is bad. The infection is far, far worse. But hell, it ain't nothing that can't be fixed.

But what in the name of… what in the hell is _that_? Although Bobby may not be the most adept in the fine art of housekeeping, he is pretty sure that the stench he smells is not from his lack of that particular skill. No, he is damn sure that the one hell of a nasty and altogether unnatural odour perforating his nostrils is from the sludge that seems to be oozing out of the damn hole in Dean's shoulder. And Bobby sighs because he knows that same infection is now working that exact same filth into Dean's body. Balls.

He knew something had triggered Dean's bouts of brain lethargy and his temperature to spike but this is much more than even the weathered old hunter had expected. Seeing the condition the young man is in, what with the blows to the head and the mess in his shoulder, it is absolutely no surprise that Dean has been hanging out somewhere in left field for most of the game. His body is simply doing all it can to fight off the attack it is under. Bobby lets out another sigh, it's all he seems to do lately.

"Well then, that would definitely explain the show your brother has been putting on for us. Jesus, what in the hell can cause an infection that bad so fast?"

Maybe Bobby didn't expect much of a response; he may of come across as being in his 'muttering to himself because he isn't sure where to start' mode. But still, he was kinda hoping that Sam would step up to the plate and help him out. Maybe offer some obscure fact that Sam seems to excel at, or at the very least some sort of opinion on the matter. When nothing but silence follows, his gaze tracks to the face of the man who currently keeps hold of Dean; who tries all he can to comfort him as he groans and shivers and does battle against his own body. Even though Sam is not looking at the older man, Bobby can tell by his body language alone that the young man is, for lack of another word, devastated.

"Water…."

Water? What the hell? Well that ain't exactly the earth shattering mega-clue that Bobby was looking for; not the one to help make the light bulb in his own brain surge back to life. But he has the feeling he is definitely missing something here; that Sam has a few more words to tag to the end of that single, meaningless one. He waits patiently and looks to the younger brother again; whose gaze seems to be fixated on Dean's face, to fill in some of the gaps. He is just about to jab him with one of his calloused fingers, to snap him out of it, when the young man looks at him; as tears threaten to fall.

"When I… I mean when Meg… um… when she shot him… he fell into the river. I saw it Bobby… I remember… the sound of the gun, the feeling of joy that Meg felt when he fell; when she heard the splash of his body as it hit the water. But Bobby… I.. I couldn't do anything to stop it. That stupid bitch, I could hear her in my own head, gloating and friggin giggling about what she had done. And she… she smiled Bobby… she made _me_ smile when she saw his body was gone; that it had disappeared into the river below. And then she just turned around…turned _us_ around…and left him there… to die."

Bobby's heart aches for this man in front of him. He can't imagine what it would have been like; to bear witness; to look down and see your own hand squeeze the trigger; to know that you were trapped inside your own body; that you were forced to watch through your own eyes as some skanky demon bitch shoots your own flesh and blood.

And that must have screwed Sam, and Dean, up something horrible. But they cannot dwell on that pile of unfair shit right now. First thing's first. Bobby has to clean out the rancid, puss spewing hole in Dean's shoulder before they have even more crap to tack on to the already overflowing load they have already. The heart to hearts and tears and apologies will just have to move into the back seat for now. He reaches out again and grasps Sam's arm to try and reel him back in.

"Just relax kid, he ain't dying or nothin'. But he is hurt and he needs us to help him. So you need to bury whatever guilt and memories and remorse you are thinking or feeling right now deep down so we can get him better. And then you two brainiacs can beat the shit out of eat other for all I care if you think it will help."

"Bobby…"

"Sam. You can only do one thing at a time son. And that one thing right now ain't brooding about how you..or Meg…or whoever got Dean into this mess. Right now we only concentrate on what we can do. This nasty infection ain't gonna magically fix itself if we just leave it be. Now, you need to hold him still while I flush it out. He may be out of it but he is still gonna feel this. You try and keep him calm and I'll take care of the icky, gross part."

"Bobby, I was just gonna tell you I'm fine, and that I know we have to deal with Dean first. So, if you're all done with your latest speech maybe we can move things along already? You seem to be taking your sweet ass time over there old man."

Sam ends his sentence with a chuckle and Bobby finds himself following along with his own. It feels good to laugh for even a moment because he knows, as does Sam, that it'll be the only chance either of them get for a while.

Bobby looks once more to Sam and with a nod of the young man's head he turns his attention to the task at hand. And it ain't gonna be pretty.

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><p><strong>TBC.. Lots of Dean drama to come in the next installment... Please review if you have the time, it makes writing so much more rewarding! Thanks again! :)<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi and welcome back. Thanks for all the great reviews, I hope that this chapter with result in some more of those coming my way :) As always, thanks for stopping by and I truly hope this chapter is to your liking... Until next time... ;)**

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><p>It ain't gonna be pretty? Hell, if that isn't the understatement of the damn century Bobby ain't sure what else could top it. He's lost track of how many times he's had to shimmy and sashay, duck and weave to avoid getting punched or spit on or kneed in the damn crotch. Dean has definitely entered into the realm of mass delirium; the words that fly out of his mouth don't make a lick of sense and on those rare occasions when he actually manages to open his eyes all the way to narrow slits, he doesn't look at anything, his eyes just seem to drift. Huh, got that right, Dean is floating around somewhere in space; make that outer, outer space.<p>

Sam is right there, his face hovers close to Dean's; his words of comfort drone away in Bobby's ears. "Dean, it's Sam, I'm right here. You're gonna be okay. I've got you bro. I've got you. You're okay."

It's frustrating and it's exhausting. It wears the older hunter down to see how Dean seems to go through every emotion humanly possible over and over again. One minute he is screaming out profanities and the next he is sobbing like a child. He struggles to get away and then he clutches the arm of his brother in an attempt to ground himself into the here and now. All Bobby knows for sure is that Dean's forays into the recesses of his brain and the damn rigmarole is causes has made it more than a tad tricky, bordering on impossible to do one damn thing about the gaping hole in his arm.

Damn demons and their damn possessions. Damn guns and their damn bullets. Damn infections and their damn poison. Damn.

Sure, Bobby is agitated and out of sorts but he can't begin to imagine what the older of the other two men sees behind his closed lids. Incoherent mutterings and flying appendages aside, Bobby knows he is fighting with all he's got to try and keep his dance with those inner demons at bay. It must be scary as hell. The thought of him forced to relive who knows what, while trapped inside his own swiss cheese mind; the thought that all the while he struggles in a futile attempt to escape them makes Bobby shudder. Well this is one ride that ain't ever gonna be on the Disneyland brochure. Not fun. At all.

Bobby is lost in that thought when he once again is forced to stop his work on Dean's shoulder, as the injured hunter thrashes around and screams out to invisible foes. Bobby watches in amazement; as Dean lifts himself up as far as he is able with the grip Sam has on him; as he aims a half-lidded death glare right at the older man's face. Glassy, unfocused, fever ravaged eyes bore into him and Bobby knows for certain it ain't yours truly that Dean sees.

Dean shakes under the stress, his muscles obviously weakened and on the verge of collapse as they react to the poison surging through his blood. Bobby sees the jawline on the hunter's face clench and there is nothing but loathing and pure hatred spewing outward through his body language. He doubles his efforts to get away; he groans and winces from the strain. But although his body seems to be hell bent on working against him, in true Dean Winchester style, the defiance in his eyes never wanes.

Bobby exhales roughly because this time is different. Dean is focused; he is tuned in and tuned on to him with such venom that Bobby knows he is about to be the target of whatever visions swirl around in the other man's short-circuited, not pumping on all pistons melon.

"I'll fricken kill you…ugh…nowhere to run freak…you'll get what's coming to you! I'll make sure of it!"

His breaths are ragged and faster now as his anger reaches out from within his core.

"Son of a bitch…die…gonna die…same for your…"

He tries desperately to shrug off the hands of the force that currently prevents his from charging off the couch; the ones that keep him away from gouging Bobby's damn eyes out. Bobby makes a mental note to do everything he can to not be on this side of Dean's rage; even though he knows it isn't him that Dean is spewing at it still is not a very pleasant place to be.

"…damn demon puppet…what's a matter? Scared to cut me loose?"

Bobby hears the break in the voice and sees the change in Dean's body immediately. His voice grows more and more faint as his body slowly loses the fight and his strength starts to fade.

"Gonna…m'gonna kill you…all…allllll"

Just as quick as the tirade starts, it's over as Dean flops back down and releases a painful groan as he does. Shit. Delirium does one hell of a number on a person.

Bobby looks at Dean, hair stuck to his head from the exertion he just put himself through; from the strain to get to whatever evil sack of shit he mistook Bobby for. Sam is next as Bobby tracks his eyes over to the younger Winchester. Damn. He looks as bad as Bobby feels. His eyes drift back to Dean and his still untreated shoulder. Shit, it's almost too much. After all this hullaballoo Bobby is still no closer to cleaning out the festering wound than he was when this trip into the Winchester version of The Twilight Zone began.

The older man can almost hear the ticking of his own personal time bomb as it starts to count down in his head. He starts to feel himself lose his cool; his temper slowly works its way to the boiling point. He curses ten ways to Sunday how something that should have taken a total of fifteen damn minutes is now closing in on half a friggen hour. It should have been easy. Irrigate wound. Clean wound. Apply alcohol and bandage. Voila. He should have been on his third beer by now but no, that would make him happy and, well, he should just know better.

And the youngest Winchester just looks lost. And scared. And worried. All the traits that right now are like fingernails on a damn chalkboard. Bobby can't help it when his look turns into more of a glare. Hell, the kid looks like the air from a damn feather will send him toppling to the ground with a thud. And that sure ain't gonna help. He isn't sure why but Sam is starting to piss him off. Really, just how fricken hard can it actually be to hold down an injured man so hopped up on infection juices that he doesn't even know where the hell he is, let alone what damn planet he is currently inhabiting?

Bobby fights to keep it inside but he knows himself well enough to concede that inside is the last place his thought are going to stay. It's just too bad for Sam that the younger brother happens to be the only shmuck in the vicinity that is able to take the brunt of one tired and supremely irritable Bobby Singer.

"Sam! You have got to keep him still! He's out of his mind with a major shit pile of delirium; and he's hallucinating God knows what so keeping your gigantic paws on him should be the easy part here! So why don't you wipe the depressed and sappy look off your face, buck up and be a team player!"

Shit. Bobby feels his own hands start to shake as he tries to reel himself back in. As soon as the words are spewed from his mouth Bobby is full of regret. Crap. He knows it ain't anyone's fault. Not Dean's, or Sam's, or his. But come on already, there is only so much abuse a man can take. Dean has fought the two of them throughout most of this disgusting procedure and the older man can tell that the younger brother is just hanging on by the proverbial thread. And hell if Bobby didn't just take the scissors to it. As if the damn kid ain't fragile enough already. Smooth move Bobby, you damn idjit.

Sam's eyes turn to look into his own but instead of the pissiness he knows he deserves to find, he only sees despair. Damn it Bobby, you just made things worse. And that is quite a feat because things are in enough of a piss poor state already. Good job dumbass.

"I'm…I'm trying Bobby. Man, he is so freaked out and pumped up on adrenaline half the time that he turns into super Dean or something. It's…it's like he is someone else."

The older hunter breathes out and tries to calm the ever increasing rattle in his nerves.

"I know son. I'm sorry for yellin', it's not your fault. It's just…for crap sake, this sure the hell ain't no picnic."

"Huh, yeah. Got that right Bobby. Let's just keep working alright, who knows when we are going to be paid another visit by 'The Incredible Dean'. Shit… he's pretty messed up."

"Yeah he is, but he's in good hands Sam. We'll just take turns having our little temper tantrums. I think I'm good for another half an hour so feel free. We just gotta make sure not to go ape shit on each other before we're done."

"It's fine Bobby, I know it's been a hell of a night for you too. No hard feelings."

"Right, no hard feelings. Hey, you know I've dealt with plenty of nasty patients in my life so this stubborn ass brother of yours is pretty tame in comparison. Piece of cake."

Bobby sees a small smile flutter across Sam's face although it doesn't quite reach his eyes. The kid is trying his best to keep it together but the toll is starting to show; he can sense that Sam is busy doing nothing but laying all ten fingers of blame directly on himself. The two men are definitely going to have a little chat about that if they ever get to leave the area of the damn couch.

"I think it's more like a piece of pie Bobby. Hell, I'm surprised it ain't syrup that's coming out of his stupid shoulder, he eats enough of that shit."

Bobby actually does grin and scoff at that. Nothing like a dose of dead pan humour at Dean's passed out expense to lighten the mood. "Right Sam. Course, that's what I meant. Piece of pie."

With the tension between the two men once again at a tolerable level, Bobby takes full advantage of Dean's fever induced rest period to continue on with the task at hand. It's odd yet comforting as Bobby hears Sam once again start up the constant mantra he has whispered to his brother off and on since they arrived at the sofa in what seems like years ago.

"Dean, it's Sam. It's me bro. We're at Bobby's. Everything's okay, you're just fighting a bit of an infection but you're gonna be fine. You need to settle down man and let Bobby finish up before he smacks me one. You're making me look bad here bro."

Okay, so maybe Bobby hadn't heard that last part before but it makes him smile and he'll take what he can get right now. And that smile grows a bit more when he finally achieves some sort of success; as he is finally able to flush out the damn bullet wound. Okay, tough part over with. Almost there. Just some fancy window dressing and then they're back in business.

Bobby looks over to Sam; his words still spoken soft and gentle to try and ease his brother's pain; spoken to the brother who is drenched in sweat and looks as vulnerable as the older man has ever seen him.

"S'mmy?..."

It sounds weak and mumbled but hell, it's something; it's one word but it's the only word which has made any sense all night. Of course, even when he isn't sure where he is or what is happening, the one thing that Dean will always gravitate towards is his brother. Sam. The one force in the universe that seems to keep Dean on an even keel. There is no doubt that these boys have the kind of connection that defies all others.

The older man can see the relief as it cascades over Sam's features and the younger of the two manoeuvres himself so Dean can see his face; to show him that he is really there; that whatever Dean faces he is not now nor ever alone; that Sam will always be there.

"Yeah bro, it's me. How are you feeling man?"

"Uh…I…"

And then it's gone; his brief moment of clarity erased as Bobby sees the confusion and pain flutter across Dean's swollen face. Bobby moves in so Dean can see the older man in his vision as well. Those eyes of his. Damn. They don't look like they are able to comprehend shit.

"Hey kid. Just about done, hang in there. Need to put the dressing on. Might sting a bit but it's gonna make you feel much better. Okay? Dean?"

It makes him feel unnerved. The way Dean's focus has shifted away from his brother to steel itself onto Bobby's face instead. But this time the look in that young face is not one of hatred or fury, but of hopelessness and desperation. The older man returns the gaze and does his best to make himself look as non-threatening and gentle as possible. Damn it. He hasn't had must practice at channelling his internal 'softness' so for all he knows all he has managed to do is look like a damn idiot.

Bobby can hear Sam call out to his brother again, as he tries to shift his focus, but those dazed eyes just stare, and stare some more as if they are trying to reach right into him somehow. Bobby tears his eyes away to look at Sam and curses under his breath as all he gets in response is the 'I don't know either' shrug. Balls.

"Dean?"

The injured man's hand moves slowly to grip Bobby's forearm and he is surprised as he holds on with a hell of a lot more vigour than Bobby thought possible. Chapped lips move and breaths increase. Bobby gets a strange and unwelcome feeling in his gut but is compelled to lean forward to hear whatever it is Dean tries to tell him. Bobby watches the young man's face and sees something so out of place; so un-Dean like that it sends up all kinds of warning flags. Bobby's hope that at least some speck of lucidity had somehow wormed its way back into Dean's delirium has just been dashed, because in those haunted eyes of his he can see the tell tale signs of tears as they threaten to fall.

With his ear practically on top of Dean's mouth Bobby waits and listens. His heart plummets at the soft and fragile words that drift out and wash over him like ice cold water on a pile of burning embers.

"Why'd…why'd you do it? Wh…why?"

There is that stupid lump again. It's wedged up in his throat so tight it's a miracle he can still swallow. But he does. He lifts his head and the burn in those eyes he looks into makes even the hardened hunter feel exposed and vulnerable. He clears his throat and ventures out into the unknown; into the madness that surges within Dean's brain.

"Do…do what son?"

This is bad. The tears. Those things that Dean only unleashes when he is not in control of himself; those things that are reserved for solitary moments of overwhelming grief and loss; Bobby watches those tears slide in an endless yet silent stream from his eyes to cascade undisturbed towards his chin. Bobby waits with worry and apprehension for the young man to answer; afraid to find out what has made him seem so weak and fragile and small. As he begins to speak the older man gulps involuntarily as the realization hits him; as it becomes painfully clear just who it is that Dean believes he is staring into the face of. And it sends a chill through Bobby's frame.

"Why? I'm…I'm not sure if I'm strong enough… What if I can't? What if I can't save him? What if…damn it, you should have stayed! He'd be better off…he'd be safe…with you, not me… I'm scared… I'm scared dad… I can't lose him… not him too…not Sammy…can't. You…shouldn't have saved…me…"

Bobby is speechless, his throat has suddenly lost all its moisture and his mind races to come up with a way to respond. But he doesn't know what to say. Those eyes. They search his for an answer, for something to help ease the guilt and responsibility of what his dad has asked him to do; to help with the burden which has been placed firmly on his shoulders by the man who's dying wish has all but destroyed his eldest son.

Dean's confused and pain filled eyes start to droop and as a small sigh escapes through his lips, he finally appears to succumb to the blackness that he has been swimming on the cusp of for the past several hours.

And in that moment Bobby hates John. For what he has done to this boy. To both of his boys. Shit. Sam. Bobby turns to face the younger Winchester son and is met by a glazed over stare. Sam doesn't acknowledge Bobby, just keeps his eyes honed in on his brother's form. Bobby watches him as he clenches his hands into fists and shakes his head in what Bobby gauges as disbelief in what he just heard come from Dean's mouth. He stays that way for a moment more before he stands abruptly and heads away from the scene of Dean's admission towards the kitchen.

Bobby feels numb. His thoughts float around, stuck in the memories of John's death; of the devastation it brought to his children; of how Dean withdrew even more into himself; of how Sam was so desperate to get his brother to share the pain he knew he was in. His brain stays stuck in those memories; he is so lost in them that the next time he looks to Dean, his shoulder seems to have magically dressed itself all nice and neat. Huh, one round done.

Bobby stares and blinks in disbelief at his handiwork until the distinctive sound of a cap being removed from a bottle echoes outward from the kitchen. Beer. Now that is music to his ears; the best thing he's heard all damn night. With a weary sigh Bobby rises to his feet, stretches out his aching back and heads over just in time to see Sam slam down one bottle and head straight for another.

Bobby doesn't speak, just opens the fridge and grabs a mouth watering brew of his own. The two men stand side by side, each having chosen their own section of the counter to lean on. They drink in silence, each man absorbed in their own thoughts.

Sam moves and Bobby watches the young man stride on over to open up the door once more. Well, ain't this ducky. Bobby knows a couple things for sure. One, it's gonna take more than a few beers for Sam to work his way through what inner thoughts his brother just muttered aloud. And two, Bobby can damn well forget about getting his usual amount of beauty rest tonight. He grabs another cold one for himself and motions for Sam to join him at the table.

On to round number two.

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><p><strong>TBC.. Thanks again for reading, I appreciate it muchly!<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi! Yes, I know, it's been a long time. Sorry about that but I had a MASSIVE block on this... too many ideas swirling around in my noggin. I will try my best to keep up the momentum... Thanks again for all your lovely reviews, they have been awesome and I appreciate every one of them! And thanks to all of you who have added this to your favourite and/or alert list. I am truly thankful for all of your support. I hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think if you have a moment ;)**

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><p>"Sam. Sit."<p>

Bobby waits and watches the younger brother battle his indecisiveness; whether to listen to the older hunter or go barrelling back into the other room to sit vigil beside Dean.

"I know you're worried son. Hell, so am I but it ain't gonna do your brother any good if you don't take a moment to look after you. You're making me tired just watching, I can practically see the smoke from your brain working too hard. So, sit down, take a load off and finish your damn beer."

A slight nod is all Bobby gets but hell, it beats having to try and haul his giant ass around the damn house.

Sam sits, his eyes intently focused on the suddenly very interesting beer bottle he holds tightly in his grip. He sips slowly and never looks up to meet Bobby's gaze, seemingly mesmerized by the fascinating form of the bottle. Bobby sips his own brew and patiently waits for Sam to look him in the eye.

Truth be told, the older man isn't entirely sure what he's going to say. How do you make it alright when nothing about these boys' lives is ever that? It isn't until Sam's hands start to move and begin that oh so annoying pet peeve of Bobby's; as Sam starts ripping the damn label off, that Bobby manages to clear his throat and find his voice.

"How you holding up kid?"

The tearing stops and Sam gives Bobby what he imagines is the best 'how the hell you think I'm doing' stare he can possibly muster at the moment.

"Okay, okay… dumb question. But still, you better tell me what is rolling around in that head of yours Sam. We both heard what Dean said, and my question is, are you gonna sit there stewing in your own juices and find a reason to blame yourself, or are you going to sit here and talk to me about it all rational like?"

Yeah, Bobby has hit the nail on the head. Sam is just not as skillful as his older brother in the art of the poker face. The young man's expression tells it all; says more to Bobby than words ever could. Sam is blaming himself for what has happened to Dean. And Bobby knows Dean is blaming himself for… well, for everything. And so the broken record goes.

Bobby figures it would be the end of Hell itself if these two idjits stopped pointing at themselves for the cause of every bad thing that has ever happened to them, or to anyone else. Cuz, you know, if that ever came to pass it actually would mean that Hell has frozen over.

When Sam speaks it is soft and speckled with pain and guilt.

"I'm a freak Bobby, have been since pretty much day one. And, because of that Dean is going to do anything and everything to save me. Dad told him… he… told him he'd have to save me, or he'd have to kill me. Who does that? You know he tried to keep it from me? Wanted to keep the burden all to himself? But I just kept on hammering away at him until he spilled it. And… when Dean finally told me… I… I lashed out at him Bobby. But, it's not his fault. Dad… he… he always put too much pressure on him, God only knows what he went through when I was gone at school."

Bobby feels out of his league. He wanted Sam to talk but now that he has, how in the hell is anything Bobby has to say come close to making one damn bit of difference? How much more can these boys take?

"What kind of father does that Bobby? Places everything on the shoulders of his son? Kill me? Right. As if. You and I both know Dean would never be able to do that. And so did dad. Dean's the one that convinced me not to kill that damn demon when it was possessing him…dad begged me to kill it… to shoot him… to end it. But Dean was right, it wasn't worth it.

After all this shit that happened with Meg, when all the clues pointed to me going darkside, I knew in my heart that he wasn't going to do it. He won't ever be able to do it."

"But Sam, Dean was right. He knows you son and he knew, even though there was piles of evidence to say otherwise, he knew you were not a murderer."

Sam just keeps his stare on that damn bottle without acknowledging that he even heard Bobby. So, the older man just lets it go, who is he to stop the wounded man in front of him from letting his hurt and anger out?

"Doesn't matter. I know all of this is tearing Dean apart. So yeah Bobby, it is my fault. That stubborn ass would rather risk his life time after time than let anything happen to me. Something bad is gonna happen to him over this Bobby, I just know it."

A shiver works its way through Bobby at those words. He isn't sure why but the older man can almost sense the truth in that statement.

"Look son, we both know what your father's death did to your brother. To both of you. I know you are hurting Sam and I am so sorry, but Dean? Well, there is a tonne of baggage there that he will have to sort though. Damn, if John was here I would kick his ass. He… hell, I don't know what he was thinking… I should have known with that so called shopping list you brought by. Stupid ass. Your brother will need to work it out in his own way, cuz he ain't gonna just forget about what you daddy did."

"Or where he is."

"What Sam?"

"I remember, when Meg… uh… she knew just what buttons to push. She wanted Dean to know that dad is in Hell. That he couldn't save him from it. That he won't be able to save me. So tell me Bobby, cuz I really want to know, how does someone get over the fact that their own father is burning in the pit, just so that they could keep on breathing?"

Bobby contemplates just how in the hell he is supposed to answer a question like that; as he tries to dislodge yet another lump from his throat, when he catches movement from the room beyond the kitchen. He sucks in a shaky breath at the sight that greets him. He can sense that Sam's eyeballs have now finally been ripped away from his drink and have locked onto the older man instead.

"What is it Bobby?"

All Bobby can manage is to motion to the area behind the younger man.

"I'll…tell ya how… S'mmy… they… don't… can't..."

Bobby keeps his eyes locked where they are as Sam turns towards the hollow and broken sound of Dean's voice. Bobby can't believe it but somehow the young man looks worse than he did before. He has the complexion of a ghost; pasty and white; the only color the still evident bruising on his face. He's unfocused and shaky and if it wasn't for the conveniently located wall he is leaning against, Bobby is sure he'd be busy breathing in carpet right now.

The two men slowly rise from their seats at the table and start to move towards the injured hunter. Bobby does want to spook him but can't shake the feeling he has in his gut that Dean has no idea what the hell is happening; or what he is doing. And that makes him dangerous. And unpredictable.

"S'okay… m'kay… I figure if… um… I can fix it okay… make it right again… was s'ppose to be me… not dad… he can p..protect you S'm… not me… for… best… "

Both men see it at exactly the same time. Their slow and steady movements are replaced by knee jerk reactions and panic as the once quiet room fills with chaos; as Dean raises his arm; as the weapon he holds reveals itself to the other men.

"a life… for a life… it's a good deal… they… won't be able… to resist…"

The only thing that Bobby can hear is his own voice, as it screams out Dean's name over and over again.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for taking the time to read! :)<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi! First off, thank you so much! I was overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter and have to admit I am just a bit on the nervous side to post this one, I hope that it doesn't disappoint! I am having oodles of fun with this story and all of your comments and alerts and favourites has made it that much more rewarding. Feel free to keep your thoughts coming, it truly does make this writing thing that much more worth while! Thanks again and ENJOY! :D**

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><p>Thank God for Sam and his longer than normal stride. That's the thought that runs through Bobby's freaked the hell out brain as he watches the younger Winchester grab for the gun; just as it is about to touch Dean's temple. Sam lifts it up and away from Dean's flesh just as Bobby arrives where the brothers stand. The older man jumps in shock and surprise when the gun actually discharges into the ceiling.<p>

Dust and debris rain down on him and it takes another moment for it to kick in; for Bobby to realize how close he has just come to witnessing one of his 'sons' blow his damn brains out. His heart is beating like mad in his heaving chest and the usually stoic and rugged hunter can feel the tears spring up in his eyes; as that thought swirls around in his head.

It takes more than a few seconds for the ringing in his ears to begin to subside; until the sensation of Sam calling his name and tugging on his arm finally tears his attention away from the horrific scene he imagines in his mind; of blood and matter splattered across his damn kitchen.

"Bobby. Bobby!"

He shakes his head to clear out the remnants of the gunshot; as the echo of it finally fades from existence, and turns to the voice. His eyes focus on Sam. He looks utterly destroyed. Scared. Devastated. Defeated. And Bobby don't need the help of no stupid mirror to tell him that he is wearing the exact same look of shock and disbelief on his own scruffy face.

"I need… I… little help here Bobby."

The palpable tremor in Sam's voice brings him back to the reality of the situation; to the fact that Dean is starting to sag; starting to slip down the surface of the wall; working his way to end up a crumpled mass at its base. Bobby's instincts take over; his damn auto pilot has finally decided to make its appearance, and he reaches out to grab hold of the injured brother.

There is no way to totally prevent Dean's descent but at least it ends with more of a whoosh than an injury jolting thud. As the young man arrives on the ground his arms and legs just splay themselves out; as if his body has suddenly been devoid of all its form molding bones. Bobby finds he can't do much more than stare.

Dean's lips are still active; they still move in a constant state but that's as far as the movements go. The rest of him just sits there limply, supported only by the pair of hands that keep him from teetering to the side. His body seems to have decided to give in to the fever and the infection; to the exhaustion brought on by his appearance in the kitchen; to reserve as much energy as it can to continue to fight the war within.

Bobby looks at Dean's eyes next. They seem to be focused on a spot on the floor and Bobby ain't entirely opposed to that right at the moment; it feels like a damn blessing to him. After all, Bobby knows he is barely keeping his emotions in check as it is, so having to look into the soul of the other man would threaten to make his own break.

It isn't until Sam moves in and turns his brother's face up to look him in the eye that Bobby sucks in a breath and is thrust back into the harshness of the scene. He is reminded of how Dean has left the building; has left an empty shell of a man in his wake. Dean is floating around somewhere in a constant deluded haze. Those eyes are not the ones that Bobby knows. These are dull and sad and pained; beyond hope.

Sam hovers dangerously close to his brother's face. Bobby wishes the older of the two would let loose with some kind of snarky reply; a remark about personal space; or how he doesn't swing that way. Anything to snap him out of the blackness that has cocooned him, that threatens to drown him from within; anything to show Bobby he is still in there.

"Dean? Come on man. Can you hear me? Dean?"

Sam's hands are shaking and although he gives it a gallant effort, the quiver in his voice betrays and cancels out the aura of calm he tries to instill onto his brother.

"Hmmm?"

Dean's eyes roll around in their sockets like he has absolutely no control over what they will look at next, and his head seems to be on some kind of bungi cord, lolling around on his neck without being able to still itself. The only plus, if you could name one positive in this situation, is although he still radiates an enormous amount of heat and looks like a ghost, his left eye seems to be able to open up a fraction wider. Yeah, Bobby knows it ain't much but, well, it's at least one mark in the pro column.

"I'm here, right in front of you bro. Can you see me?"

Dean hones in on the sound of his brother's voice and slowly his eyes swivel their way to gaze onto Sam's face. Bobby can read Dean's features and feel his confusion as his brow knits and furrows in frustration, as he tries to somehow comprehend what it is that his brother is asking him.

"S'm? S'mmy?"

"Yeah man, it's me…God Dean. Just… what the hell were you thinking? What was that? If I… I mean… "

"What? S'm? you okay?"

Bobby watches Sam's entire body tense and stiffen at that. Not exactly the best question to be asked right now.

"What the hell man? Why would you… how… you could have died! Jesus Dean, you almost did! So no, the answer is no, I am NOT okay! And neither are you!"

Bobby sees the flinch in Dean's form and watches as the older sibling starts to squirm under the hold and pressure of both Sam's physical presence and emotionally laden words. His eyes are downcast now, picking up where they left off; staring at some invisible yet fascinating spot on the floor.

Sam's tone changes as he realizes he is losing his brother; that he is going back into the fog.

"Dean? Look at me. Please. Damn it, just talk to me. Do you know what you just tried to do?"

Dean scrunches his eyes up in an effort to figure out just what in the hell is brother is talking about. It doesn't take long before his eyes widen as far as seems possible under the circumstances and Bobby can almost hear the click; the moment when some of the puzzle pieces snap together. Shit, he remembers, and the look of pure guilt that flashes in that swollen and beaten up face makes Bobby cringe.

"Hurts S'm… every minute… every day… I… I can't shut it off… hammers away in my head… never stops… always there… can't… it's like… sometimes…"

"Sometimes what Dean?"

"Can't breathe… suffocating in it… this hole… in my gut… gets bigger and bigger…it's sucking me in… bit by bit… can't breathe… suffocating… drowning in darkness…"

Bobby hears Sam suck in a breath, and then another; as he tries to calm his nerves enough to continue on and try to get Dean out of the abyss that surrounds him.

"Hell man, is this what you are willing to do to make it stop? Instead of talking to me; to anyone? I can't lose you too Dean, not… not you. I… It's…"

Bobby can see the shudder in Sam's body as he stares into his brother's face; as his body seems to use up its last burst of adrenalin; as the younger sibling is confronted with the knowledge that his brother would rather die than live with his pain; his never ending stream of anguish. The older man figures Sam doesn't really expect a response, at least not a very coherent one, but rather that he needs to vocalize his own inner turmoil out loud.

Bobby sighs at the sight of Sam and tries to put himself in the young man's shoes. It isn't every day that you see your strong and self assured brother; the one who never lets anything get passed his well constructed defenses; the one who rarely shows emotions outside of sarcasm and rage; the one you rely on to be the rock when you start to drift, reduced to a quivering mass of jelly at your feet.

It isn't every day that you are face to face with the fact that if you would have been two seconds later you would have to deal with the memory of your own brother killing himself after tangling with a demon; the one who tormented him using your own face. Sam was so close to losing him; the only other member of the Winchester clan still breathing. All because of that demon bitch.

"Dean?"

"S'my… s'okay, I'm fine… I'll be… fine… don't worry…"

Sam bristles at those words and Bobby waits for what the younger of the two men will do with that; with the fact that Dean just tried to use his infamous I'm fine card. Idjit.

"Don't… you are joking right? You are not alright and you sure as hell are not fine!"

Bobby watches Sam turn from Dean to him; as his eyes search for guidance and assurance and help from the only father figure in the room. The older hunter feels like a tool when he can't think of one metaphor or word of wisdom to make it better; he can't think of one damn thing to say.

Sure, Dean is beat up and fevered out of his mind but even so, Bobby never thought that his anguish and pain would manifest itself into the shit storm they find themselves engulfed in at this moment.

The tears flow freely down Sam's face and his quickened breaths tell Bobby he is well on his way to having an episode of his very own. Bobby places a tentative hand on the young man's shoulder and when Sam leans ever so slightly into his touch, Bobby squeezes, hard.

"It's… it's just the fever Sam. Your brother's deck is definitely missing most of its cards right now."

Even Bobby ain't so sure that he believes that load any more. Maybe this night from Hell has opened their eyes more than they ever thought it could. And, truth be told, Bobby isn't so sure he ever wanted to hear and see and feel the utter agony that the older sibling is in; that he has been dealing with since his father died; since he was brought back from the brink of death. Bobby had hoped Dean would just snap out of it; just bang up a few more cars in the yard and work his anger and hurt out on inanimate objects. Obviously, like everything else in the world of the Winchesters, it can't be as simple as that.

"S'mmy? What… you k? what happen? Crying? S'okay man, m'fine… uh, but… feel like shiit… like to go to bed now… head hurts and… don't feel too good…"

Sam clears his throat and Bobby hears another sigh escape from him. There will be no more talking to try and find out the truth. Dean's back out on the road of 'where the hell am I and what the hell just happened'.

"Yeah, sure man, no problem. Let's get you back to the couch okay?"

It's then that Dean seems to realize exactly where he is. Bobby can almost hear his brain trying to figure it all out; why he's leaned up against the wall; why his brother and his bearded friend have to keep him from falling on his side. Dean looks to each of the other men and then towards the ground once again.

"Uh… hmm… okay, I'll bite... why am I on the floor again?"

Sam's head snaps over to look at Bobby so quickly that the old hunter almost thinks the damn thing is gonna roll right off his shoulders. Bobby figures Sam is emotionally spent from the damn rollercoaster ride so it's time for the old man to step up to the plate and take the next swing.

"Well idjit, seems to me you had the urge to get up and start walking around. But your body had other and more practical ideas for you. Rest kid. That's what you need to get rid of that damn infection that is poisoning you. So son, what do you say, no more strolls without adult supervision?"

"Oh… right… uh, infection?"

"Yup, you are ripe with it too. That's why nothin' much is making sense in that swiss cheese noggin right now. But your brother and me, we got it covered. Comprende?"

"But… um… yeah, sure Bobby, whatever you say. You can fill me in with the truth tomorrow cuz I know by the water works Sammy over here is spouting that something else happened."

Sam's gaze hardens as he turns to look into Dean's face again.

"No need to worry about that bro, I guarantee that I have every intention of filling you in on every single damn detail when you're feeling better. You can trust me on that man."

The tempered harshness of those words makes Dean swallow and Bobby sees the regret of his last statement float across his face. Bobby realizes that Dean is staring at him now and damn, it feels good when he hears an honest chuckle form in his throat and makes its way out into the room.

"Huh, don't look at me kid, you asked for it."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by... reviews would of course be awesome! :)<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi and welcome back. Sorry, this chapter isn't too exciting but I haven't had a lot of time to work on this story and wanted to send out an update. I hope you will enjoy; I hope you will send me a review if you do! Thanks for the continued support, as always I appreciate it! Thanks! :)**

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><p>They work in silence. Uncomfortable, awkward and downright tense silence. What do you say anyways? Sorry Sam? Sorry that your brother felt the need to try and add a splash of colour to this dingy house with his own fluid? Sorry that he is so out of his gourd with whatever the hell this is that he was willing to shoot himself in the head just to make it stop? No, somehow Bobby thinks that won't cut it. So the older hunter decides to keep his trap shut.<p>

Dean had passed out again shortly after his brief moment of lucidity on the kitchen floor, and now that Bobby and Sam have him back on the couch and as comfortable as he can be, Bobby doesn't know what to do, or to say. Sam looks dead on his feet. Bobby watches as he makes his hundredth trip around the perimeter of the room and he can hear the younger Winchester swear and fume under his breath.

The older man can make out only certain words but they tell him enough. Bobby has never known the younger sibling to be much into the more foul words in the profanity dictionary, but he ain't sure _he_ has even heard half of the sayings that are flying out of Sam's mouth. Bobby stays silent and lets the young man vent. Hell, he himself just wants to leave the confines of his house and smash a car or two of his own out in the yard. But, thanks to John, he is now head-on into daddy mode. Not that he minds, but he would have preferred to ease into it, not get thrust right into the black hole on his first round. Damn it John, look what your death has done to these boys.

"Sam, you're making me dizzy. I know my place ain't something out of a Martha Stewart mag, but I would still prefer to keep my carpet from being worn down to the floor. Listen son, how's about I stay here and keep an eye on Mr. Idjit while you just take a minute to gather yourself. I'm thinking you could use a little break from all the damn drama around here. Get some rest. Hell, just go and get some air or something, I'm almost choking from the damn elephant in the room."

Okay, that got his attention and Bobby almost flinches at the fire in Sam's eyes as he looks straight on at the older man.

"Huh. You mean the elephant lurking around because Dean just tried to kill himself? Or maybe it's the elephant to do with how he is drowning in pain? Is that what you are talking about? Is it Bobby?"

Hmm, sarcasm much Sam? Maybe that brother of yours is rubbing off on you.

"Uh, yeah, that's them. Both elephants accounted for."

Bobby watches as Sam makes one more loop around the couch before he plops down and stares at his brother with such intensity that Bobby almost wants to look away. Sam is searching his face; like he is trying to learn Dean's deepest, darkest secrets by using his eyes alone.

"You know kid, staring at him like that; boring a hole in his damn skull ain't gonna make the answers you're looking for magically pop out of him and make their way into your head through osmosis or somethin'."

Sam turns to him them and Bobby sees a flash of rage, or maybe it's intense sadness, flutter across his features before they soften and he lets out a light sigh and a chuckle.

"Osmosis Bobby?"

"What? You don't think I was actually born a hunter do you? I used to have a different life too you know. I know what the hell osmosis means!"

At least he has pulled him back from whatever darkness he was caught up in. But still, is doesn't change the fact that Sam is about one incoherent mutter leaving his brother's lips from plunging into a deep seeded depression of his own. Bobby has to keep in mind that Sam has also lost his father; at how close he came to losing the only family he has left. The damn kid needs a break.

"Yeah, you're right Bobby. But I… I know I won't be able to sleep. I mean I keep on… I keep on seeing him, dead on the god damn kitchen floor. I just don't know what I am supposed to do. I have to help him Bobby but I know he won't let me. Damn it, why does he always do this? Why does he lock everything up inside? I just… I just don't know what I am supposed to do."

These boys infuriate him more than any other idjits he has ever come across; and there have been more than enough to deal with. After all of this Sam still thinks his brother and him are in this battle alone? What is he anyway, just the guy they come to, to find some obscure reference or ritual to stop some undead piece of crap? Family don't end in blood; he'll make damn sure both boys get that message loud and clear.

"First of all Sam, you are starting to piss me off. Do you think for one minute that you, or your stubborn ass brother over there, are in this thing alone? I may not be the most lovable person; I may not be your father, but I've still got your backs. Always.

So do me and yourself a favour and get out of here for a damn minute before I can't fight the urge anymore to wring both of your stupid necks. We need to regroup. We are tense and stressed and still trying to process the little show your brother just put on. Remember, your brother is hurting, and you should know better than most that those colossal walls of his come up bigger and stronger than ever when he's like this. So, take your butt and go outside. Scream or hit something or take a bottle of booze and have a drink. I don't care which son but you need a minute to yourself. I am perfectly capable of looking after your brother for five damn minutes! Okay?"

"Yeah okay Bobby. I guess… I guess I could use a little air."

And without another word Bobby watches Sam stalk into the kitchen, grab a beer and head out the door. The older man is thankful that Sam didn't put up too much of a fight but he almost misses him when he hears the door shut. His eyes cast themselves towards Dean. Towards the young man who has shown more of his true feelings in the last couple of hours than Bobby can remember hearing about in his whole life.

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><p>Bobby isn't sure when it happened; when it was exactly that he shut his eyes, but when they open and he peers into the very, very concerned eyeballs of the younger Winchester he feels like a certified heel for falling asleep at the wheel.<p>

"Sam? What is it?"

He is surprised when he is actually 'shushed' by the younger man, and he is about to let him know that he don't appreciate that much, when Sam puts a finger to his own lips and motions towards the other side of the room.

Dean. He is right in front of the window, staring out into the yard. Sam approaches cautiously as Bobby wipes his eyes and tries to get his bearings.

"Dean? What are you doing man?"

Bobby can see Dean's hand holding on to the table beside the window, the knuckles white against the strain. He is listing dangerously to the side and Bobby starts to move; what he figures would be worthy of being called a ninja-like sneak attack.

"Shh, quiet Sam. Stay away from the window. I know they're out there. I… I can't see them but I know they are there. They are looking for you. You need to hide. Please. I'll hold them off Sam. You just need to get out of Dodge."

Bobby notices Sam's eyes travel towards him as he reaches the other side. Sam on one, Bobby on the other. Sam reaches a hand out to Dean's head and pulls a face at the heat that Bobby assumes must be radiating off of his brother.

"Who Dean? Listen to me alright? There is no one there. Please, you need to come with me. You need to lay down."

Bobby sees Dean's hand shoot out and grab Sam's wrist before the older brother whispers out what he figures his brother needs to hear.

"The demons Sam. They are trying to take you away from me. It's…it's what dad warned me about. Save you. Or kill you. And there is no way in hell I am going to kill you!"

Dean's outburst must have come out with more force than he intended because he instinctively removes his grip from the table to cover his mouth. His eyes are wide, scanning each and every corner and crevasse of the yard he is so intently focused on; as if to make sure none of the invisible foes outside heard him.

Bobby takes his cue from the slant that Dean's body seems to take all on its own, and makes it there just in time to prevent him, once again, from slamming into the floor.

The heat is palpable. Too hot. Too fevered. They need to do something about this; they need to cool him off. Now. He looks to Sam and whispers softly.

"Sam. Get the tub filled up. Lukewarm water. We need to lower his temperature. Do it son. Now."

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><p><strong>TBC... Well, that's all I've got for today. I hope it was enjoyable and please, if you are so inclined, reviews would be most awesome and appreciated! Until next time... :)<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi. Sorry for the delay, I've been battling the flu amongst other ailments so it took way longer than anticipated to post this. I hope you will enjoy, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter so I would appreciate hearing your thoughts! Thanks as always for your continued support and for all the wonderful reviews I have received, they mean so very much! :)**

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><p>Bobby had kinda hoped that the whole 'put Dean in the tub of water without him being none the wiser' trick would have worked but of course not. Where would be the fun in that, right universe?<p>

Before Sam even returns from his task of getting the tub ready, Dean is starting to squirm and murmer under his breath.

"Wh.. S'm? What's goin on? You k? Did… did you get away? Sam!"

Bobby feels the movements become more panicked now as Dean tries to get up; tries to find his brother.

"Sam's fine son. Just relax, don't move okay? You ain't too steady right now so stay still."

Bobby feels pretty damn thankful when he spots Sam's form approach back from the bathroom. He instantly feels the struggle lessen in the older brother and Bobby nods to Sam.

"Looks like sleeping beauty here has decided to join us. Well, sort of."

Bobby watches Dean's head swivel around to look up at him. "B'by?"

"Yeah, that's me kid."

Sam looks down at his brother as Dean switches from Bobby's face to his. His eyes are glassy and confused, pretty much the same look he's had since Meg roughed him up earlier in the night. Bobby wonders just how long this damn fever is going to keep its yo-yo, voodoo spin hold on Dean. Enough is enough already.

"S'm? You're okay, thank God. I thought… I mean… I saw demons… everywhere. They… they were here for you, I couldn't… I… did you hide?"

Okay, so Dean can't tell real from delirium, all par for the course Bobby supposes. Hell, they need to get him to the tub quick, before he starts babbling about other stuff. Like… in the kitchen; how he… Bobby shakes his head to dislodge the memory, one crisis at a time old man, one crisis at a time.

"Just a dream dude. No demons. I'm fine. You're not doing so hot. Well, actually, huh… the thing is that you are too hot. Fever Dean. Fever dream. Didn't happen and not real. Okay?"

Before Dean has a chance to respond Sam glances to Bobby and gives him a look that screams out to end this conversation and get going. Who knew a man's eyebrows could say so much? Sam grabs hold of his brother on the opposite side and so Bobby follows his lead.

"Alright, c'mon sunshine, we need to get that fever of yours down. Lord knows we have about a million things to blackmail you with already. Dean?"

Back to the inconsistent mumbling are we? Well, that suits Bobby just fine. The two men gather up their cargo and the only sound that echoes through the house are the incoherent and disjointed words of a man who seems to flutter between anger and grief, to guilt and back again.

Bobby starts to think maybe, just maybe Dean will be unaware enough to prevent a battle once they reached their destination. But no, again, no. How many times has hope of any kind been dashed repeatedly during this night from Hell? Bobby has lost count so he decides right then that hope is totally off the table and out the window. What good does it do if it never amounts to one damn thing anyways?

As the trio makes it through the door and Sam turns on the light, it's like another switch has gone on, in Dean, and the older brother makes his pissed off at this whole degrading situation known, without any shadow of a doubt.

"Turn…light down…would ya? Gonna blow out…retinas over h're…"

Bobby and Sam share a glance; a wouldn't you know he'd come to his senses right when the fun is about to begin glance. Sam sighs long and hard and reaches up to twist one of the bulbs that illuminate the tiny space to dim the light.

Bobby's eyes are on Dean as he looks to Sam, then the tub, then back to Sam. Bobby can feel another round of weak struggles roll through the injured brother as he realizes what they are planning to do to get the fever down.

"Don' need bath…mom…wanna sleep? Please?"

Bobby wonders how many pieces of his damn heart have broken off and are swimming through his veins. First John. Now Mary. This is one rollercoaster ride that he wants to get off, immediately.

Dean giggles a bit and two sets of concerned eyes meet each other from across the small bathroom.

"Relax Sam…called you worse than that before… Seriously though, what gives? Did I puke or something? I feel.. I mean I'm…"

Rapid blinks and a swallow or two and Dean decides to stop himself from admitting out loud that he ain't feeling too good. Dumb ass. The other two men don't need him to spell it out, his body and the emotional loop de loops have done it for him.

Bobby notices Sam's hands. They clench and unclench, much like his jaw currently does. He knows the younger Winchester is busy trying to settle his nerves without raising a cause of alarm to his brother and that deep fried brain of his.

"Yeah, you ain't smellin too good kid; your brother and I can't let you just stink up the whole joint right? Listen, I know it ain't what you wanna do but trust me son, you need this. You are frying, literally, and we need to cool you down."

"I feel… s'okay… I'm…"

Okay, this latest feeble and pathetic attempt to try and prove he is peachy and fine has just pissed Bobby off. Fever or not; emotional and physical turmoil or not, Dean has got to stop with this brand of bullshit. It's hurting his damn head.

"Before you finish that oh so boring and over used line of bull crap, you can save your breath. You are not fine. Not even close. You probably can't recollect right now cuz your brain has turned itself into swiss cheese, bad you are pretty bad off.

You are damn lucky we give a crap about you and put up with all the constant cascades of bullshit showers. Take my advice and shut that trap of yours. Your brother is about one smartass comment away from pummelling your hide, and so am I. So, what do ya say? Be a good boy and play along this once."

Bobby can almost see smoke out of Dean's ears as he tries to comprehend in his messed up brain what the big deal is. It's beyond frustrating but Bobby can see a slight shift in the other man's gaze.

"Fine. Geez, what crawled up your ass anyways Bobby? I'll get in just to stop this melodrama but I can do m'self. Don't need help."

"Uh, no, you can't Dean. Bobby was right, I am already over the threshold of my Dean attitude acceptance scale so the sooner you stop being a stubborn ass, the sooner we can get this over with. Don't you wanna finish and curl up all nice and comfty cozy in an actual bed?"

Bobby hears another sigh, only this time it escapes from Dean. He isn't quite sure if it's a sigh of annoyance or acceptance but the question answers itself when Dean starts to pull away from Bobby's supportive grip.

"Let go of me B'by! What the hell anyways? Can't a dude even get into the freakin' tub without a damn chaperone anymore? It's not… I mean I can't… I'm capable of scrubbing myself off!"

Sigh number three. This one from Bobby. Unbelievable, stupid, ignoramus just can't accept help even when he knows damn well he needs it! Damn idiot.

"Go ahead hotshot, let's see how far you get."

"Out. Now."

"Nope, sorry bro, not moving. So, come on, strip or we'll do it for you. And that could lead to many a disturbing image for the rest of your life. Right?"

Shaky hands push off from the burly hands that hold him, and by the time Dean is standing on his own steam he is breathing heavy, has added another coat of sweat to his body, and can't contain a moan that curls out from his lips. Blurry eyes look to the mirror and try to focus. Bobby can see, as he is sure Sam can, that those green eyes are busy trying to take in the not so pretty reflection that peers back at them.

Bobby watches the older sibling run a weary hand across his face and exhale a loud breath. His eyes dart across the parts of his body visible in the small mirror, and they stop momentarily at his swollen cheek before they come to settle on his shoulder. He reaches out to touch it and a small hiss escapes him as he probes it gently.

The grimace in his face is gone, replaced with a look of pure fury.

"Stupid demon whore. Bitch. Skanky piece of crap."

Bobby figures the fixation that Dean has on his shoulder ain't good. He doesn't need to take any more strolls down demon lane, at least not tonight. Bobby reaches a hand out to him to draw his attention back to the room and why they are there.

"Time to rest Dean. Time to take care of you."

Okay. Now, instead of fury, Bobby sees a flare of defiance. So much for thinking this could be done without a battle. Ah, wishful thinking, he better scratch that off his list too.

"Not that bad."

Bobby looks to Sam and now he doesn't like the look he sees on the younger brother's face. What the hell is it with these two idjits? Sam steps forward and looks at Dean through the mirror. When he speaks his voice comes out flat, and cold. And hell if Bobby doesn't find himself get chilled at the way in which the voice travels through his core.

"Get in the tub or go to the hospital. Your choice."

Dean's eyes flash to his brother's; the ones that stare at him through that mirror, and Bobby swears he can see a smirk flitter across his bruised and pale face.

"You are NOT taking me to the hospital Sam. Please, I always knew you were a bit of a girl but aren't you taking this a bit far? I'd like to see you try. Really, over a little fever?"

Snap. Bobby can hear it. Hell, he can see it. The hands are clenching without restriction now, and as Sam's breath speeds up and his look goes from slightly pissed off to dark, Bobby knows it ain't gonna be a good scene, for either of the brothers; or for him. He hates when these two go at each other.

"A… a little fever? I should take you there anyways you ass! Don't tempt me Dean, I will take you there over my shoulder, kicking and screaming bloody murder if I have to! And I am damn sure they would take you, not only because you've got a fever of…."

Now Bobby sees a full on grin appear on the older sibling's face. Dean, don't do it. Please, don't do it, you don't know what your brother has been through tonight.

"What Sam? A fever of what? 103?"

Idjit.

"Wow, that is so hilarious that I forgot to fricken laugh! You have no damn idea what the hell you have been doing tonight do you? You are… were so out of it that… Hell, I think the hospital is sounding like a better idea by the second. At least you'd be safe there. Maybe they can get to the bottom of it... maybe they can explain the reason why you decided to…."

No, no, no. Bobby can see where this tirade is going and he ain't gonna let that happen.

"Sam, watch yourself. This is not the time. Stop it. Now."

The brakes on Sam's rant are pushed to the floor so fast that Bobby's surprised there isn't a puff of smoke. The hard eyes of the younger sibling's seem to soften and Bobby can see the glisten of tears just as Sam moves to look down at the floor instead of his brother's face.

Bobby looks at Dean, as the oldest brother continues to stare at Sam; as he waits for the punchline to be thrown in his face. Dean faces Bobby then and the older man can hardly keep his own tears in check. So, instead, he too casts his eyes to the floor. He hears Dean take in a breath but Bobby cuts him off by raising a hand in the air. He speaks slow and deliberate and soft to try and make his point.

"Dean. Get in the damn tub."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by. <strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello and happy Friday to all! I hope you enjoy this latest chapter. Thank you to all who are reading; those who have put this on their alert and favourite lists; and to those who have been so extraordinarily kind with your reviews. Thank you very, very much! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on this installment. :)**

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><p>By the time the trio has managed to wrangle Dean out of everything but his boxers, he is pretty much just a big puddle of goo, complete with flip flopping appendages and the inability to offer pretty much one iota of assistance.<p>

That, however, changes the instant his burning from the inside out body hits what must feel to him like being thrown overboard from The Titanic, and plunged into the iceberg plagued ocean below.

Dazed eyes that seem to almost pop right out of their damn sockets rake over Sam and then Bobby. And, as per usual, they come to rest and focus intently on the younger brother before Dean manages to mutter out his one, breathless demand.

"Out…ged m'out…"

Flailing arms and legs are next, and before Bobby or Sam can get a hold of the offending limbs, they are just as covered in water as Dean. Sam takes control of torso and arms while Bobby tries to contend with legs; kicking, splashing, panicked legs.

"Shh… Dean, you're okay bro. You're okay."

Bobby sees green eyes try their best to meet hazel ones, but they seem to just swim around in their sockets. It isn't until Sam actually reaches out to cup his brother's chin that the movement seems to slow to only a slightly dizzying speed. Bobby is pretty sure this exact scene has played out over and over and over again. And not just tonight. This is no doubt a routine these brothers have had to perfect; have had to go through, time and time again. Another result of the hunter's life. It's a damn shame.

"Dean, you with me man?"

"Co'd S'm… need out…"

"Soon Dean, I promise. Just a couple of minutes okay? It only feels cold because you have a fever. Remember?"

He sure the hell is trying to remember, the determination to do so suddenly present on his pale face tells Bobby that much. The struggle slowly seeps away from his body. Whether it's because of the trust he has in his brother's words, or the fact that his body just up and lost its oomph, Bobby ain't sure. And right now he don't much care. As much as he loves an impromptu shower in the middle of the damn night as much as the next guy, this is almost too annoying to continue to be polite about.

He watches as the brothers lock eyes on one another; as if they can communicate by looks alone. Hell, they probably can, such is the way this life has programmed them. Always be in sync with each another; always know what the other is thinking, or take the chance that one of you won't survive the latest hunt. Something is just so inherently wrong with that. But, right now at least, it does the trick.

Bobby is amazed at how gentle Sam can be. Just minutes ago he was fuming, ready to storm out with Dean in tow; ready to take him to the hospital and tell them what he tried to do. But now, seeing his brother in pain and knowing that he is too out of it to really know what's going on, well, it never ceases to amaze the older hunter. Sure, they may not always be all that affectionate in their words, unless bitch and jerk are also utterances of love to others out there, but they have got the art of non-verbal communication down to a damn science. In spades. It's like they know exactly what the other is thinking; how the other is truly feeling, without having to utter one damn word.

Sam keeps a gentle hold on the back of his brother's neck as his other grabs a washcloth and dips it in the bath water. Dean's eyes open wider, but before his agitation can rev up to its full potential, his brother comes to the rescue; knows just how to handle a freaked out Dean Winchester.

"You're sick Dean, really sick and I need you to trust me. I hate to say it man but you are really starting to worry me so please man. I know it's cold and you'd rather be anywhere else; rather be doing anything else; rather have anyone of the female persuasion around to help with this part, but you need to trust that right now I am the one who knows what is best. Let me do this. Just this once, let go and give your little brother a chance to help."

A small smile flutters across Dean's face and he silently gives his permission with an almost imperceptible nod.

"Okay, here we go. Just relax and breathe. It'll be over soon."

Sam is gentle in his movements, mindful of all the injuries that plague his brother's form. He hadn't filled the tub up very much, just enough to get some of the water on Dean's scalding skin, but all the signs tell the oldest man in the group that Sam is about to give his older brother what can only be described as a sponge bath.

If this wasn't serious; if Bobby couldn't feel the heat radiate into his palms from just the slightest touch of Dean's skin, he would be tempted to run out and get his damn camera to capture this Polaroid moment.

"Head first man."

"K…"

There is a hiss, a rapid intake of breath, and what Bobby assumes is a whimper. Both sounds formulate themselves out from within Dean's lips as the first seemingly icy blast penetrates the warm cocoon he has been surrounded by and is flooded; as he is submerged under the ice.

Sam doesn't stop his work or the litany of comfort and shushing he recites over and over again to his older brother. Soon it seems that Dean has gone from interpreting the sensations as agony to unknowingly letting a whimper or two of contentment escape from him instead; as his body goes from being roasted over an open flame to a more controllable and comfortable form of baking.

It also isn't long until Dean's body starts to sag; until his head lolls to the side, and those weary eyes of his start to close.

The image of dragging a practically naked, full grown man from the tub and somehow making it back once again to the couch is one that Bobby definitely wants no part of; that he desperately wants to avoid. He gently shakes one of the legs that he seems to have forgotten that he is holding.

"Son? Can ya just stay awake for a couple more minutes? I don't feel like dragging your ass around the whole damn house. Think you can manage it?"

A brief glance and even briefer smile greet him and Bobby hears a slight snicker as well.

"Jus' restin' eyes B'by… don' worry… m'good… wouldn't wanna… break ya… old man…"

Cheeky as ever. Feels good. Bobby gives the injured man another pat on the leg before looking to his brother.

"Okay Sam, bath time's over. We can't do any more for him in here. Let's get him up, get him some water and meds and see how that fever is doing."

"Y'h bro… prune look is so nineties man.."

And for the first time, in what seems to be a very, very long time, Bobby actually bears witness to the formation of an actual, sincere, and honest smile work its way onto the younger sibling's face.

Bobby sighs, and as he sees Sam's own smile reflected on his brother's face, although he said he was through with hope and wishful thinking, he can't help himself. Maybe they can yet find their way out of this gloomy evening fairly intact, without any trips to the hospital; without any fisticuffs; without any more painful words.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by and reading my thoughts! :D<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**Welcome back and thank you sooooo much for sticking with me and the boys and Bobby on this adventure! I appreciate each of your comments so very much! I hope as always that this chapter is to your liking. Let the healing begin...maybe ;)**

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><p>"So, how's he doing? What does it say?"<p>

Bobby is finding it hard to concentrate with Sam breathing down his neck, so he prays for some good news as he glances at the thermometer. And there it is, thank you. 101. That is something they can at least handle. Guess that bath helped. And now that he knows Dean is showing signs of some sort of physical recovery, he wishes he would have run to get that camera after all. Cuz Lord knows they could all use a big laugh right about now.

He can still feel breath on his neck and the tickle of Sam's way too long locks on his face. He hands the instrument over to the younger brother and watches as his features slowly lose some of the strain that has been a pretty much permanent fixture; as it ebbs away from him ever so slightly.

Bobby shifts his gaze towards the man on the couch; the man who currently seems to be having one heck of a time keeping his eyes open. He watches for a moment as they start to close, then pop open again just to start the process all over again.

"Dean, you're doing better kid so it's time to let go; just close your eyes and keep 'em closed. Get some rest. Sam and I will do the same. Got it?"

Dean mumbles something far too low for him to hear, but Bobby is fairly sure that it is just simple exhaustion that has claimed him this time; that he wasn't busy spewing out the utterings of delirium is a definite positive stop. Hell if he ain't felt this happy in a long time. That's kinda sad and ridiculous. Happy that someone has a slight fever and a bullet wound. Shit, his life, and those of the two boys, is just so weird.

It takes about one nano second for Dean's eyes to drift closed and as Bobby watches him slowly slip into what he hopes is a peaceful slumber, he sighs and pats the injured man affectionately on the chest. Kid has had one hell of a trip and maybe now they can all get some much needed rest.

"Sweet dreams son. And please, no more sleep walking okay? I'd hate to have to clobber you..."

He stands and cracks his back; reminded once again that he ain't nowhere near as young as the other two shit disturbers that are sharing his house with him at the moment. Yup, spring chicken days are definitely over.

"So now what?"

He startles a bit, had kind of forgot that he wasn't the only other conscious person in the room. Maybe it's because of the wash of relief that he feels, or maybe it's because his body and mind ache and he just wants to go to bed and sleep for a damn year, but he flinches at the sound of Sam's voice in his ear.

"We call it a night that's what. Or I guess we call it a morning by the looks of it, and get some sleep. The worst is over now Sam but your brother still has a lot of healing to do so we need to be ready; he'll be ornary and stubborn as all hell when he gets his bearings. I don't know about you, but that is something I don't intend on dealing with; something I can't deal with on no sleep and an empty stomach."

Bobby can see the indecisiveness surface once again on the younger Winchester's face. Hell, he can't blame him. He has had to witness all kinds of unbelievable shit over the last who knows how many hours. The topper; the one thing that Bobby knows is busy circling around in his head like a buzzard who can smell death, is Dean with that damn gun in his hand; the vision of his brother totally prepared to end his own life. Bobby ain't sure if Dean even remembers that, but the damage has definitely been done; the image has been painfully seared into Sam's brain, as well as his own.

And Bobby also knows that come Hell or high water, Sam is going to talk to his brother about it, whether his brother is in a talkative mood or not. It's not something the older sibling is gonna take kindly to, so Bobby needs to be at least a little refreshed so he can assume his role of referee in this relationship. Ain't he the lucky one?

"Listen Sam, I know you're feeling a bit skittish about leaving him alone and I understand that, I do. You are worried something else is gonna happen but the fever is down and he is at least making some kind of sense now."

Sam ain't budging, his body language screams out defiance to this whole going to sleep nonsense, but Bobby ain't about to let Sam go any longer without some rest for himself. As if to emphasize his rightness about all this, he can't help but chuckle when Sam is overtaken by the hugest yawn he's ever seen. And great, now it's his turn. He really needs to lay down.

"Okay son, that kind of settles it, for both of us. How about I get ya a blanket and pillow and at least you have the option. If all the damn hovering I know you are gonna do as soon as I head off to bed starts to wear you out, you'll have everything you need to just rest your eyes for a minute. Okay?"

Another yawn later and Sam nods his head.

"Yeah, okay Bobby. That'd be great. Thanks."

"Don't mention it kid."

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><p>He slowly opens his eyes and with the way he feels the exhaustion still grip him in a tight embrace, he figures he has managed all of a half hour of sleep. Balls. But, once he rubs his eyes and focuses intently on the clock, it tells him quite a different story. It's been a few hours. He leans back on the mattress again and grabs his ball cap from the night stand. Those boys are running his old body ragged.<p>

Shit, he better move his ass, go down there and make sure they haven't killed each other yet.

The distinctive, and at the moment saliva inducing aroma of coffee floods his nostrils like it's the sweetest perfume on the planet. So, Sam is up then and is getting all his ducks in a row for the talk yet to come; to lure Dean awake and into a good mood with coffee and then slam him with the events of the night before. Should be fun, lucky he's got a front row seat.

As he walks around the corner with Sam's name on his lips he stops mid stride. Well, he sure as hell wasn't expecting this. Dean. Sitting at the table with a steaming cup of coffee, although by the looks of things he doesn't seem to be that interested in it, or even that it's there. He's crouched over and has an elbow propped up on the table in an attempt, Bobby guesses, at keeping himself from tilting over the side.

Bobby clears his throat to announce his arrival and sees tired, make that very tired, eyes look up at him. He does a quick nod to the young man and quickly scans his face. He is pleased to see the swelling has gone down even more, but the paleness is still there and he has to fight the urge to grab him and escort him none to friendly like back to the couch where he damn well belongs. Idjit.

Bobby looks to the other room and sees Sam sprawled out on the floor, one arm over his eyes, and Bobby can hear a slight snore escape him. The older man can't help but smile. At least one of the Winchester boys knows enough to get some damn sleep. He turns back to the injured man who looks like he is precariously perched on his chair, and saunters over to get himself a cup of joe. His instincts tell him loud and clear that he is sure as hell gonna need it.

Dean hasn't said a word, just stares at his cup and then to the room he recently occupied and back to the cup. Bobby can be pretty sure the man hasn't even taken a sip out of the damn thing, and can't help but wonder exactly where Dean's head is at right now.

The older hunter sits directly across and waits until Dean meets his gaze.

"Dean? Wanna tell me what the hell you are doing out here when you look like you're two seconds away from doing a major faceplant?"

The brows on Dean's face crinkle a bit at that, as if he can't understand why Bobby finds it strange that he is in here. He looks up to him and takes in the features of the older man.

"Bobby... look like shit man... should go back... bed... m'good... just needed to sit for a minute..."

"Yeah, I bet you did. How are you feeling? And please, don't treat me like I'm the damn idjit that was born yesterday son. You should be over there sleeping it off. So, gonna ask one more time Dean, what the hell are you doing out here?"

Dean gulps and sighs and drags a hand over his face. He winces slightly and presses into his wounded shoulder. When he looks back up to Bobby the look that he finds there seems odd to him. The eldest brother looks uncertain. Or, stranger yet, frightened. Dean Winchester doesn't really do frightened so Bobby is caught a bit off guard at that.

"Um... what the hell happened Bobby? I feel like I got run over by a damn freight train, my shoulder and face hurt like a bitch and... and..."

Dean looks to his hand, the one that is now shaking like the proverbial leaf on a tree, and the young man concentrates on it so hard that Bobby feels the most uneasy feeling develop in a hurry in the pit of his stomach. Dean shakes his head in a movement of disbelief. Okay, he definitely needs to get Dean talking, fast.

"And what son?"

"I keep...seeing myself. And you. And..." his voice starts to break and as his body starts to rattle even more, Bobby knows instantly what is the cause. "...Sammy. I... I tried..." Yup, Dean knows exactly what he tried to do and as he loses his fragile grip on the table, the older hunter flies over with uncharacteristic speed and agility to get in front of him just as he collapses. Shit. So much for easing you into the truth, you damn idjit.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by! :)<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello everyone and thanks for coming back for another edition of PBB :) A big, big, humungous thank you to all of you out there reading and sending along your thoughts, those reviews really motivate me to continue on so THANK YOU! I hope as always that you will enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>Bobby hates this. Hell, he should be able to enjoy this little bit of peace and quiet; the solitude of having a moment to himself. But, instead of relishing in the silence he actually hates everything about it. He can not and does not enjoy it. At all.<p>

He looks at the clock. Huh. He's been sitting at his damn table, stewing in his own juices for two damn hours now. Dean is asleep, or passed out, who the hell knows. And Sam? He hasn't moved one inch. His arm is still draped across his face and he's still sleeping like a damn baby.

Well, that ain't gonna cut it, not when Bobby has spent his alone time thinking about Dean and how he looked when he sat at this same table a little while ago; can't help but think about what brought him to that stage.

Bobby lets out a sigh. It's just so typical. Of all the damn luck, Dean would remember the one thing that is the most disturbing and just a tad unsettling about this entire night. Right, well of course he would, he is a Winchester. Too bad for him.

Bobby hears and sees a slight movement from the gigantic lump on the floor, and figures that's all the invitation he needs to go over there and jostle it into wakefulness. There is not one god damn reason why Bobby should be made to sit here alone to contemplate all the screwed up ways that these stupid Winchester's deal with things. Well, at least not when there is a perfectly good pin cushion, just itching to be poked and prodded, nestled all snug and cozy within just mere feet of him.

A contented sigh comes from the younger brother, and Bobby can't help but think about how Sam's subconscious attempt to settle back in for more shut eye is almost enough to piss him right off. Oh no you don't Sam.

Bobby stands and makes his way over to the boys. He checks on Dean and can at least be thankful that the boy is getting some rest. As he walks back from the couch he can't help but 'accidentally' nudge Sam a little harder than required. He also can't help but smile when his love tap proves enough to get the kid out of slumber land back into the waking world.

Sam sighs deeply, blinks and palms his eyes before the realization of what has gone on creeps onto his face. He scurries up to his elbows to look at the older man.

"Bobby? Everything okay?"

Bobby can't help but think about how innocent Sam looks at that moment. He has the creases of sleep etched in his face and his hair stands up at odd angles. This should be the best part of this young man's life but instead it is surrounded by death and demons and fear. Balls.

"Yeah Sam, it's all good. Why don't you freshen up while I make us some coffee. And before you ask, Dean is doing fine, he's still asleep."

There is the flood of relief on the younger brother's face as he glances towards his brother.

"Okay Bobby, sounds good. And coffee sounds great too. Huh, I guess I was tired after all."

"Yeah, no kidding. Between you and sleeping beauty there I could actually hear myself think."

Sam leaves to head for the washroom as Bobby trudges his tired bones back to the kitchen and the duty of making some brew. He supposes he will just tell Sam what he had walked in on earlier. Shouldn't be so hard to fill him in on the fact that Dean was up; the fact that although he didn't say the exact words, he remembers what he tried to do. Somehow Bobby don't think it's gonna be that easy.

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><p>"Sam, let the kid sleep, come get a mug."<p>

Sam stalks into the kitchen and sits right beside Bobby, his goal to retain an ever present, watchful eye on his sleeping brother. Bobby can't help or stop the giggle that seems to erupt from his belly and make its way out into the room. If anything, the 'what the hell is so funny' look that Sam suddenly has pasted on his face just makes him laugh more.

"Sorry son but you do realize that you were out to the world for several hours don't you? So lighten up, your brother ain't going anywhere and you need to relax. Keep your face frozen like that for too long and it's gonna get stuck like that right? And I don't think you wanna be looking all broody and pissed off for the rest of your damn life."

Bobby's smile widens as Sam releases the tension in his body and slowly gives in to Bobby's rough around the edges logic. The younger man shakes his head and Bobby relaxes a bit more himself when he hears him emit a chuckle of his own.

"What can I say Bobby? Force of habit. That damn brother of mine is always doing something to make me worry. It's like he just can't help himself. My brother, stubborn as a mule."

"Well now, he wouldn't want you to get bored with all that happiness stuff would he? Wouldn't that be all, what does he like to say, unicorns and rainbows?"

"Yup, that sounds like him. Those comebacks of his? One of a kind man."

Okay, time to come back to reality and come up with a game plan.

"I know. He does have a certain way of deflecting doesn't he? Damn idjit would rather crack a stupid joke than worry or take care of his damn self."

Sam nods his head in agreement and Bobby reaches out a hand to grip the other man's wrist.

"Listen Sam, I know I ain't too good at being touchy feely and all that but I gotta say, Dean is damn lucky he has you on his side son. If you hadn't come back into the picture, well, I'm not sure where he would have ended up."

Sam looks into Bobby's face and the older hunter sees emotions of every kind in those eyes. Bobby takes a second to steady his nerves.

"Especially now that John is gone."

Well, the chuckles are definitely gone now, erased from both of their faces to be replaced by sorrow; at the loss of their father and friend; and acceptance, of the hole that the loss has left in each of them. They don't have to say it out loud but each man knows; they each silently acknowledge that it is the older son who is suffering the most.

Bobby clears his throat to rid himself of the frog, or maybe the lump, that seems to have decided to hop right in and make this speech much more difficult that he had intended. Sam looks at Bobby and raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Bobby? Something you want to say?"

Here goes. Showtime.

"Dean hasn't been sleepin' the whole time son. Wait, just hear me out Sam. I didn't wake you because he wasn't delirious or trying to run out of the damn house naked or anything. When I woke up, I came down and he was at the table. You know the damn fool even made a pot of coffee? I knew he still had a fever and he didn't look so good but that ain't a newsflash, he has had one hell of a ride."

"And? What is it then Bobby? What is the newsflash?"

So maybe his poker face isn't all that pokerrific right now. Bobby feels like Sam is looking right through him and that his time of stalling is long done.

"And, the thing is… he knows."

"Knows what? What do you mean?"

"I mean he knows Sam. He remembers."

Bobby watches Sam's expression and waits for him to put the pieces together because he sure the hell does not want to have to say the words. It doesn't take long and, although Bobby didn't think it was possible, the look of concern on Sam's face increases tenfold.

"Shit. Did he talk about it?"

"Never had the chance. He passed out before we could get into it. I don't know if it was the fever or if it was the shock of remembering but whatever it was, at least it gives you and me a chance to figure out how we are going to approach this. Unless you think we should just leave it alone?"

Okay, that was the wrong thing to say. Sam is up so fast that all Bobby sees is a blur of plaid as the younger man flies around the perimeter of the kitchen in some crazed supersonic mode. Sam stops and stares long and hard at him before he takes a deep breath. Bobby knows it is taking a monumental effort on Sam's part to keep his voice even and low.

"What the hell Bobby? Are you serious? Do you really think this is something that we should just sweep under the rug to keep the rest of the shit Dean doesn't talk about company? We can't! We have to at least try to get him to open up about it. He's a ticking time bomb Bobby and the fuse has probably been lit for the last 20 years. So no, we are not going to leave it the hell alone."

Alrighty then.

"Okay, okay son. Just relax would ya? I hear you Sam, I do, and believe it or not I agree. It's just, how exactly do you figure we should get your brother to talk about his feelings? You know he ain't gonna just start gushing like a school girl who got stood up to the prom. This is Dean and it ain't gonna be easy. That's all I'm sayin' son."

Sam's eyes soften at that and Bobby sees him go straight on into contemplation mode. He opens his mouth to let Bobby in on whatever magical plan he has devised, when a moan is heard from the other room; followed by the emergence of Dean from beneath the blanket.

The two men are transfixed on Dean's every move. He clamps down on his shoulder and the men hear what you might call an aggressive gust of air, followed by an all too familiar statement. It comes wafting out from that mouth of his and settles itself onto the ears of Sam and Bobby.

"Gah… Son of a bitch. Sam? Sammy?"

"Hey Dean, over here."

Bobby's eyes stay on the older sibling as he turns and spots the two men staring at him from the kitchen.

"Uh, hey Sam, Bobby. Okay bro, rest time is over, time to hit the highway."

Sam can't do anything but gawk. He's like a damn statue; frozen like he has just looked into the face of Medusa.

"Hello, earth to Sam. Remember? All that evil out there and just you and me to find and kill it? I'm just gonna take a leak and we'll get going."

Dean hobbles away from the scene and Bobby looks to his brother. Sam sits still and slackjawed; the only movement that of his eyes watching his brother's retreating back.

Bobby leans in nice and close to the man beside him.

"I hope you have some kind of magical horseshoe up your ass Sam, cuz you're gonna need all the luck you can get."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by, feel free to review if you so wish! :)<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi everyone! I kinda threw this chapter together really quick so I hope it's okay. Thank you to all for reading and taking the time to review, I appreciate all of your support and fabulous comments more than you know! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D**

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><p>"So Sam, what's the plan?"<p>

The younger brother looks nervous. It seems to Bobby that whatever fight he had in him to just call Dean out on his little gun to the brain show has fizzled out like a damn sparkler. Once his brother announced they were gonna head out, the wind in Sam's sail turned into an almost undetectable breeze.

"I'm thinking Bobby. Damn it. Maybe we should just rip the band aid off and see if it bleeds."

Huh. That kind of seems a bit brutal but Bobby gets what Sam is saying. Don't pussyfoot around the issue, just tackle it head on. Let the chips, and punches, and body parts fall where they may. Hell, nothing sounds like a good idea to him. Nothing is going to make this easy and nothing is going to prevent a fight. Bobby knows it. And Sam knows it.

The more he thinks about it, the more Bobby's head starts to pound. How the hell are they going to get Dean to fess up, let alone talk about all the crazy shit they saw and heard spew out of his mouth? Balls. And more balls.

The tension laden silence is broken by the distinctive grumble of an ignored stomach, and that's all it takes to make Bobby's brain fire back up from the idle position it seemed to be stuck in. He gives Sam a quick smirk. Food. Dean's Achilles heel. That should at least get him to stop his sprint for the door and get him to sit down at the table for a spell.

"Well, I take that as a sign that if we are just gonna stand here with our thumbs up our asses, we can at least do it on a full stomach."

Within minutes Bobby is in the midst of making a typical Singer meal. Eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. His stomach joins in unison with Sam's as the heavenly aroma wafts through the kitchen.

The sound of a door being closed in the distance causes both men to stop and look; to await the appearance of the 'I'm fine, there's nothing wrong' version of Dean Winchester. The version they have come to know and label as denial Dean. They don't have to wait long.

He comes into view, his gait is slow but steady, and as he heads ever closer to them, Bobby notices he is supporting himself with whatever object happens to be closest. The wall. The desk. He still looks like hell but even so, that doesn't take away from how the smile on his face seems to light up the room. If it wasn't for the dullness in his eyes Bobby might just think this was a day like any other. But, he can see through the wounded man's façade with ease. He can see a slight wince now and again. He can see the sloppily buttoned shirt and the still pale face.

But still, the smile remains. Dean has upped the wattage on those pearly whites of his and that tells the other two men that his barricade is up and the game has just begun.

"Okay Sam, let's… get moving. What the hell? Sorry Bobby, no time, Sam and I gotta head out. We'll grab something on the road. C'mon Sam, hustle up and grab our stuff. Time to let the old man rest, he looks like he needs it."

"It's called food you damn idjit. You and your brother ain't leavin' here until you've had some chow. So just ease up for a damn minutes and sit your ass down."

Sam leisurely sits on one of the chairs and looks to his brother with a smile that rivals his older sibling's. "Let's just relax for a bit, we can at least stay for a bit since Bobby's been slaving over a hot stove all morning. I'm surprised he doesn't have a 'Kiss The Chef' apron to wear."

Humour tactic. Well played Sam. Let's see if your brother takes the bait and eases up on the defensive stance he seems to have adopted.

"How about one that says 'Kiss My Ass' Sam? Cuz you are about one stupid comment away from getting yours kicked."

"See Dean? How can we leave Bobby like this? Plus, I don't know about you man but I could definitely eat."

There is no response from the older brother and no deviation from his current stance of 'what the hell Bobby' that the older hunter can read loud and clear. Hell, is Dean actually trying to send him a glare? Hmm, stubborn streak still intact then. Well, one thing is for sure, Bobby don't take too kindly to being challenged in his own damn house. Hurt or not, Bobby ain't above tearing a strip or two off.

"Sit down before you fall down. Now. I already heard the same song and dance from Sam here but we had a little chat and I set him straight. And just look at how eager he is now. Listen, your death beam eyes don't work on me son so like I said already, you two idjits ain't going nowhere until you get some food in your bellies. End of story. Clear?"

Bobby doesn't wait for a response, just turns his back and continues on with making his gourmet meal. He can hear a scoff, the scrape of a chair on the floor, and the mimicking sound of a whip being cracked as Dean relents to his demands and sits down. Okay then. Step one done.

Bobby hands each of the boys a plate of food and tries to be inconspicuous as he eyes Dean up; tries to gauge how he is really feeling underneath the show he is trying so hard to put on for them. Yeah, he figured as much. The younger man just picks at the assortment of items before he settles for taking a small nibble off a piece of toast.

Sam, on the other hand, has hardly come up for air. As Bobby starts digging into his own meal, he realizes just how hungry he is. The fact that Dean has eaten about as much as a newborn doesn't make him feel too confident about things to come.

"I know I ain't the best chef in creation son, but judging by Sam's appetite I'm bettin' I ain't the worst either. No need to be dainty or polite, right Sam?"

Sam stops shovelling just long enough to give Bobby an eye roll and to take a sip of juice to swallow his food down.

"Well, what do you expect Bobby? The man is freakishly huge, he needs to keep the inner giant satisfied."

"You don't want to hurt my feelings do ya? Dig in Dean, there's plenty for all of us."

"Uh, thanks Bobby… looks great but I'm good, just not hungry right now."

That comment stops the younger brother entirely, and he sends a quizzical look in his brother's direction.

"Dude, you gotta eat something. You look like a feather could knock you over. You're still on the mend and you need to get your strength back. When's the last time you ate anyways?"

Laser eyes narrow in on the target. On Sam. Bobby gets ready…

"Lay off Sam. I don't jump down your throat for no damn reason. I ain't hungry, that's all. No biggie."

Get set….

"Sure, it's just… well, I find it a little odd that the guy who seems to have a constant void and bottomless pit where his stomach should be is suddenly not hungry."

GO.

And there goes the chair. It topples over as Dean pushes against it to stand up and tower over his brother where he sits. Bobby can see Sam flinch as his brother's hands slam down on top of the table. Even the veteran hunter is caught off guard at the speed in which Dean has gone from zero to one hundred.

That reaction tells Bobby that Dean is in full on defensive mode; tells him that he definitely has something to hide. It tells him that the only thing the other man wants to do is get the hell out of there and put the memories of the night before far, far in the distance.

Dean's breath comes out short and ragged, his face has a definite reddish tinge to it, and to top it off, he looks like he is about to topple over again from the mere exertion it takes to stay on his feet for five damn seconds.

Bobby rises from his own chair and matches Dean's pose, complete with hands on the table. They are locked, eye to eye, like some kind of stupid contest to find out who will cave; who will blink first. Bobby ain't gonna fall for the bait and will be damned if he's gonna let Dean gain control of the situation.

"Sit the hell down right now Dean. You are obviously still hurting and the last thing I want to do is to have to coddle and soothe your brother's worrying self after you're passed out on the damn floor again. So, sit down before I lose my temper."

The glare intensifies. The arms start to shake. The jaw tightens and the lips draw themselves into a tense line. Something is definitely wrong in Bobby Singer's house.

Bobby sees Dean's strength start to go and he figures Dean knows it too. As if to avoid being the one to break the staring contest, the recovering hunter bends down to pick up the chair. Sam and Bobby watch in concern as he stops and places his hands on his knees. Sam starts to move but is met by a pointed finger.

"Back off Sam."

Sam acquiesces as his brother lifts the chair and places it down hard; in an overemphasized show of aggression. He plants himself noisily on the seat and goes right back to glare mode. Amazing. Only Dean can sit his ass on a damn chair and make it sound mad.

"You okay man?"

Dean looks to one man, and then the other, but in the end seems to talk directly to the top of the damn table. It comes out soft and slow at first, but Bobby knows it's taking a shitload of concentration and self control for the eldest Winchester to keep his anger in check.

"I'm fine. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with the two of you? I'm fine! I'm just tired of Sam here riding my ass about everything! Maybe I'm just not hungry, huh? Maybe I ate too many M&M's last night and now I have a tummy ache. Maybe you should just kiss it better for me. Would that make you happy?"

The volume starts to ramp up and Bobby can visibly see the point at which Dean's coolness is placed on an open flame; watches as it melts away and his entire body goes rigid, as the tension bubbles up from within.

"Maybe… Maybe you two should just leave me the hell alone and stop nagging me about every damn thing I do!"

Okay, everything seems to be running off the rails and Bobby needs to diffuse the situation, and reel them back in, and fast. All of this bickering over some damn eggs and toast? What the hell does he have to look forward to when the actual 'topic' is brought up? One word comes to mind. Fireworks.

"Or, maybe we should all just cool our jets. Sam, quit nagging the man about his food intake. Dean, quit giving your brother and me shit because we care enough to want to make sure you don't collapse from exhaustion."

Both sets of eyes are on him now.

"You. And you. Stay there and try not to provoke each other for two damn minutes while I grab us all a cup of coffee. "

"Quit staring at me Sam. The channelling you are doing to your inner mother hen is pissing me off. Look man, I'm sorry, I'm just a bit stir crazy, not used to being cooped up for too long. So, let's just forget about it, have a coffee to make the old guy happy and get back on the road."

The three men sit in semi comfortable silence, each with a mug in their hand, and Bobby's glad he doesn't need a damn knife to cut through the tension. But, he knows he is just avoiding the inevitable. So, with a deep breath and a confident voice he looks to Sam.

"Ready?"

Sam nods and Dean watches their interaction. Sam looks to Bobby and then turns his gaze towards his brother. Bobby joins in and can see Dean seem to retract from the combined force of their focus on him.

"What's up guys? What's going on?"

Bobby waits for a moment to see if Sam is going to take the lead but when the youngest of the group hesitates, he takes the plunge and goes for it.

"Dean, we need to talk. Actually, first you are going to listen to what Sam and I have to say. And then you are going to talk to us."

"Right. Good one. Ha ha. Okay, enough already, it's been fun Bobby but those sons of bitches aren't going to kill themselves right? Bobby? Sam?"

"Dean, this is serious bro. We are worried about you and whether you like it or not; whether you want to or not, we are going to talk about all the shit you have bottled up inside. Before it tears you apart."

Defiance. Denial. Rage. Disbelief. They all show up in some form on Dean's face and in his body language. Okay, so they are definitely past the point of no return.

"This is a joke right? I mean, you can't be serious. Cuz if I didn't know better I'd say that this is some kind of damn intervention."

Yahtzee.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by! Until next time... :D<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi everyone and thanks so much for coming back! A great big THANK YOU to all you wonderful folks out there who have read, reviewed, alerted and favourited this story, it truly is a wonderful feeling and I can't thank you enough! I hope as always that you enjoy this latest chapter.**

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><p>Alright. Here we go. Two rational, level headed human beings against an increasingly agitated and pissed off one. With anyone else he would be happy with his odds. But here, with Dean staring at him with his highbeams of hate, those odds seem to be stacked on the wrong side.<p>

"C'mon Dean, it's not like that."

A fire seems to ignite in the older brother then, his eyes burn bright with a look of defiance as they track to Sam slow and deliberate like. Or maybe he sees betrayal glittering around in there? Either or, Bobby thinks he should prepare himself for the boom; for the moment when the bomb ticking away actually does go off.

"No? Oh, okay, my mistake. Well then, I guess there's nothing else to say. Can I be excused from the table now…mom?"

Bobby tries to figure where sarcasm is on the twelve step scale to get Dean Winchester to admit he's not peachy keen like he pretends, and wonders how many more stages it will take until he will finally open up. Maybe, just maybe Bobby can fight the urge to kick his ass or tie him down until whenever that freakin miracle decides to present itself. Hell, if it even does.

The stern and exasperated look on Sam's face seems to just add fuel to whatever level of 'fun' his brother seems to be having at his expense. Dean knows what buttons to push and burying everything down and making fun of his brother at the same time? Well, that is the big red button that you ain't ever supposed to push.

An over the top exaggeration of the thinking man statue greets the two other men at the table next. Add in a contemplative look and finger tapping on his bottom lip and Dean's act is in full swing. Bobby looks to Sam and raises an eyebrow and a shoulder to convey 'well, what did you expect ?' They've started this Oscar worthy performance and are gonna have to ride out the wave of theatrics, while they try not to get thrown off their game and purpose in the process.

Bobby is damn proud of the younger sibling at the moment. Kudos to Sam for not rising to the bait. He can see a flash of disappointment on Dean's face as he realizes it too. This nut is going to be a tough one to crack, but something tells Bobby that Dean is up for the challenge.

"No? Don't want me to leave yet? Still wanna have a heart to heart? Okay, well if the word intervention doesn't float your boat I'm sure I can come up with another one. Um… yeah, got it. How about interrogation? Or better yet… inquisition? Those make you feel better about this little freakshow Sam?"

"Dean…"

"And Bobby,"

Great, he thought maybe it would be a little longer than thirty seconds before he got pulled right into the shit storm along with Sam.

",what happened, how did Sam actually manage to talk you into this little therapy session? C'mon man, you ain't falling for his bleeding heart bullshit are ya? Look at me, I'm fine. All rested and ready to rumble with the next bad ass thing that comes calling. But, we ain't gonna do any good staying here. You know Sammy here likes to overreact to everything. "

Okay, now we've moved to the subtle art of deflection.

"Stop right there son. Your brother and I are both concerned. And please, not Sam or you or anyone else can pull the wool over my eyes. I'm a big boy and I can see and smell it the same as your brother can. You my friend ain't fine. Your line of bullshit ain't gonna work on me. You can bitch and moan and let all the insults you have in that plentiful repertoire of yours fly out at a million miles a minute if you want, but it don't change the fact. Last night's performance told both of us at least that much."

Yup, it was betrayal he saw earlier, and it glistens in those eyes with so much force that Bobby almost has to look away. Almost. A sigh escapes Dean's lips and he shakes his head at what he perceives is the incredibility of the situation.

"Shit, what's the big fricken deal? Last night… what about it? Just another day in the life. Some crazy shit happened, we ended up here, had a tussle and poof, now it's morning and the birds are chirping and the sun is shining. Sammy here should be in a great mood. I'm sure if we look real close we can find a rainbow and unicorn too bro, make the day extra special for you. Rose coloured glasses intact and firmly in place. Time to move the hell on."

Defensive mode, that one is always a real treat.

"Kind of glossing over the guts of the story don't you think?"

"No I don't… Look, it's… "

The words say one thing while the eyes and body tell the complete opposite. Dean remembers. Dean doesn't want to talk about it. Dean wants it all to go away. Bobby feels a tinge of sadness at the way the young hunter must feel; outnumbered and wounded; weak and backed into a corner. Bobby clears his throat and speaks in a softer tone.

"It's what Dean? What about last night?"

The recovering hunter closes his eyes for a moment and swallows, as if he just bit off the part of the night he wants to forget; that he wants to keep to himself, and forces it down into his gut.

His eyes open and for the moment the anger and rage and defiance is gone. Bobby can see exhaustion and pain. Maybe there is a chance of this working yet.

"It's all a haze but hell, most nights after fighting some evil fugly are. Look, It seems simple enough. Bad shit then, good shit now. There's nothing to talk about. We're all here and we're all fine. That's what matters, end of story."

Green eyes focus in on one man and then the other. There is a pleading quality swirling around in there. Dean really, really wants his brother and Bobby to believe him. But, as much as it's gonna hurt, they don't. And they can't. Because at the end of the day, no matter what Dean throws at them, the boy still tried to off himself. Maybe he was delirious, maybe he wasn't playing with a full deck but that don't make one speck of difference. They can not let him just forget about it, when he so obviously, at least to Bobby, hasn't.

"That's just the thing Dean. None of us are fine,"

Sam looks like a kid again. The emotions he faced during the night before show up and Bobby thinks he can see his eyes start to swim in unshed tears. He figures the younger brother is thinking back to the same visuals of Dean as he just was. Gun in hand, ready to end it all without a single hesitation.

",least of all, you."

"What the hell are you talking about Sam? Just because you feel the need to rehash and analyze and line it up in your microscope every time something happens to us, I sure as hell don't. So do us all a favour and go cry in your cornflakes or have yourself a girly drink complete with one of those gay umbrellas, and leave me the hell out of it! Don't drag me down into your emotional baggage with you!"

Sam stumbles a bit at the words, as if he was cut into little pieces, and Bobby sees him cast his eyes to the floor for a fleeting moment. But the young man brings them back up, ready to face more of Dean's relentless attack if it'll mean his brother gets the help he needs. Any sign of tears threatening to fall are gone. Sam's determination rises back up and he stiffens in his seat.

Even the older hunter feels the flush of warmth on his face. Dean is so close to crossing a line that can't be uncrossed and he better start to walk a little lighter and carry far less of a big, ugly stick. And Bobby ain't above telling him so to his face.

"You're walking a thin line there. You're brother and I ain't fools, we've seen this little act of yours a few times before. So do me, Sam and yourself a favour and stop treating us like we are damn idjits. Don't look all innocent, you know exactly what I mean. You, Dean Winchester, have an unhealthy habit when you're confronted with shit you don't want to deal with. You bellyache and lash out at everyone and everything else to turn the focus on them instead of you. I understand it's your defense mechanism and all, but that don't give you the right to blurt out whatever crap you think is going to change the topic. Tread carefully or you'll wind up saying something you'll regret son."

"Wow, what a pile of steaming horseshit. I didn't realize you were a shrink on the side old man. But I do have one thing to say."

Oh goody, Bobby is tingling with anticipation. Not. Dean is in full flight mode and has honed in on his latest target; on Bobby. Hell, at least Sam gets a moment or two to recover from the previous blast.

"I mean while we're at it, walking around with our hearts on our fricken sleeves and all, you seriously need to stop calling me 'son' Bobby. I don't like it. In fact, it makes me cringe."

Okay, he'll try not to show it on his bearded face, but that one stung.

"Dean! What the hell? That was way, way out of line dude."

"Don't sweat it Sam, I'm old and I got thick skin. Takes a little more than Dean having some kind of a hissy fit to get my drawers in a bunch. No worries. Plus, kid's right. He ain't my son, and I sure ain't his father."

"Damn right you aren't my father Bobby! And… you're damn lucky too."

It's obvious to Bobby that Sam didn't quite take the time to decipher that last comment of Dean's. But Bobby has, and damn it if the guilt and wounds this kid drags around with him ain't enough to make even the most hardened man want to sit in the corner and weep like a damn baby.

"Bobby, I know he didn't mean it, I'm so sorry. Wait. What? "

Bobby doesn't get the chance to acknowledge Sam's comment before Dean dives straight in and heads for the jugular on his brother's neck. It's loud, it's bitter and it aches of pain and loss.

"Don't you dare apologize for me little brother. I don't need you to fight my damn battles for me. Don't you get it? Doesn't anyone ever listen to one god damn thing I say? Jesus, for the last fricken time, I can take care of myself and you know what? If not… well… then so be it!"

Bobby sees the same expression on Sam's face as he must be wearing on his own. Shock. Bobby watches the injured hunter slump a little in his seat, close his eyes and raise a shaky hand across his brow before it pinches the bridge of his nose. Hell, neither of the other men saw this sudden reversal coming; that Dean would just start to spout out shit. Bobby's too afraid to say one damn thing; afraid that if he does the man will stop the words dead in their tracks. Better just to wait and see where all of this verbal diarrhea takes them.

"Dammit. Why does everyone stick their nose in and do stuff to try and help or try to save me? I've never asked anyone for help so why don't you listen to me! You two, you need to keep out of my way. Hell, out of my general vicinity would be good while you're at it. The longer you stay, the more… you'll only get yourselves hurt, or worse."

Eyes lift up from their downcast gaze and Bobby can see the moment that Dean realizes what he said. He straightens in his seat and flashes a toothy grin at the other men. Shit, he is about to do a complete 180 and that ain't gonna cut it.

"Okay then, well, good talk guys. Thanks, I am soooo much better now. Amazing what a man to man bitch session can do huh?"

"Dean…"

Dean may be able to work his charm and smooth things over like the expert bullshitter he is on the rest of the humans on this stupid rock, but not Bobby. And sure as hell not Sam.

Dean starts to move his chair back and right when Bobby thinks they are done; that they are about to watch him bolt for the door to get as far away from his inner turmoil and the truth as he can, Sam's hand flies out to grab his brother by the wrist in midair, and forces it back down to the table.

Eyes flash from wrist to Sam's face. And thus commences another journey; as they move on into the anger portion of the performance.

"Dean. Please bro, sit down and stop running. No more running from it. From dad, from the pain. From me. From Bobby. Just stop running. For once. Please."

Bobby watches the confrontation and figures that Sam's words aren't gonna do shit. Hell, if getting the young man in a fit to be tied rage will be more effective than hugs and cuddles then Bobby is definitely in his element. He looks to Dean and tries to formulate a plan of his own cuz Sam sure as hell can't keep him contained at the kitchen table forever.

Those eyes lose their anger and focus for a brief moment, as if the older Winchester actually contemplates what Sam is trying to say. But, as with most things that may evoke an emotional response in Dean, the moment is gone to be locked away inside, and he's the only one with the stupid key.

Huh. Lock and key. That gives the oldest of the trio his idea.

Dean tries to free himself from his brother's grip but Sam just tightens his hold as his eyes plead with Dean to do as he asks. It serves to be in Sam's favour that his brother ain't up to full power yet because, although Bobby can see his hand make the formation of a fist, he ain't anywhere near ready to let it fly. Those eyes shoot so many daggers at every inch of Sam's body that Bobby wouldn't have been surprised if they somehow manifested themselves to cause actual physical damage.

Dean's gaze turns its focus onto the older man.

"Uh, little help here Bobby?"

The older hunter is a bit surprised by the question. Damn idjit.

"Nah, I think Sam's got everything under control, doesn't need this old man to help, I'd just get in the way. He's getting his point across just fine s.. kid."

Well, that wasn't the reaction Dean was expecting or looking for. Bobby ain't sure but he swears he can see a hint of panic cloud over the man's face.

Well, this is as good a time as any to put his own plan into action seeing as Sam's got Dean somewhat subdued. Hell, he's gonna make his own point, to show Dean that they ain't kidding around; that he ain't leaving here in a huff.

Bobby stands and nonchalantly heads over to Dean's gear on the floor in the other room. He can practically feel the holes that start to bore through his back as the only sound in the house seems to be his footsteps across the floor. He leans over and picks up the discarded keys to the Impala, making sure to jingle them so Dean knows what the prize is that he holds in his hand. He shoves them into his jean pocket and can hear an audible noise from the older sibling as it travels the length of the room to where he stands.

"What the hell Bobby!"

It's a small gesture, just a small arrangement of keys, but the meaning is huge. You don't get to run Dean. Not this time.

He starts the journey back to the boys but stops midway. Sam has a question mark written on his face and Dean, well, poor kid has no idea what the hell is going on. Bobby turns and makes his way to his front door. He stop, wonders if this may be a bit of overkill but hey, in for a dollar, in for a pound. His fingers fly across the door, locking and latching and making sure the dead bolt is in place. Let's see Houdini over there get out now.

As he turns around to head back to the kitchen, the looks that greet him tell him the message has been received loud and clear. The oldest hunter doesn't flinch, doesn't withdraw under the scrutinizing gaze of the eldest brother, just moves slow and deliberate until he reaches his previous position and gently lowers himself onto the chair.

He meets Dean's steely gaze with one of his own. Slowly he can see the eyes change. They look defeated and all at once Dean seems to stop all struggles to remove himself from the grip of his brother.

"Okay, so now that's settled. I ain't gettin' any younger over here so maybe we can move things along. Maybe you'd like to start with the explanation of why I am so lucky that I'm not your father."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to drop me a line if you wish, reviews are always awesome! :D<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi everyone and thanks for coming back! Just a warning, I had a really hard time with this chapter, the flow just never got going so I'm not sure how it worked out. But, at any rate, I hope you manage to enjoy! Thanks to every single someone out there for taking the time to read this, I appreciate it! :)**

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><p>Bobby looks to Sam and can see that the younger sibling ain't quite ready to relinquish contact with his brother yet.<p>

"You can let go Sam, got the place locked up nice and tight so twinkle toes over here can't go nowhere."

Bobby hears a scoff from the older brother and any vulnerability he had seen a moment ago is erased. For the love of… what is it going to take to get this damn idjit to open up?

"You heard the warden here Sammy, hands off the merchandise."

"Sam, sit down son. And Dean, start talkin' kid."

Sam sits down but he still keeps a light hold of his older brother. Funny thing, Dean doesn't even seem to notice; he is staring directly at Bobby and it is a bit on the unnerving side.

"I don't know what books you've been reading on intervention techniques Bobby but wow, you sure have outdone yourself. The atmosphere is so warm and inviting that I'm surprised I haven't spewed out stuff from my early childhood for you to decipher. It's awesome, really. It makes me just want to turn into a puddle of jello and tell you whatever you wanna know. That's how good you are; that's how safe and welcome you have made me feel. Not at all like a fricken prisoner!"

Wow. Bitter, stubborn and scathing. Everything that has pushed them all to be here, in this position, right now. Dean's inability to talk about anything has led them to this moment and now that they have forced his hand, he is lashing out and getting ready to deliver the wrath of Dean. Not going to work son, you ain't getting out of it this time.

"Dean…"

"No no, it's okay Sammy. I get it, really I do. Let me guess. I'm probably going out on a limb here but you're worried about me right? You don't think I can take care of myself. You think I need a god damn babysitter or better yet, a shrink, because I had a run in with Meg and she was kinda mean to me. I'm okay, but you don't believe me, you never do."

Sam remains calm and Bobby is pretty impressed with the young man. Dean is just going to get more and more vicious in his attacks and now that they have pulled that damn bandaid off, they better accept that the wound that has festered for so long is going to start to seep and spread its toxins out, and they just happen to be in the direct line of fire.

"You know what Sam? Just between you and me, I shed more than a couple of tears in the bathroom earlier while you two were no doubt out here devising this master plan of yours. It's amazing, I feel pretty good, all those nasty emotions seemed to fly out of me when I sat there and cried like a baby. Damn it Sam, you are so right, it's so much better to face them. Man, it's like a burden has been lifted off my shoulders. Truly amazing Samantha. No wonder you seem to cry all the damn time."

Sam doesn't flinch, doesn't sigh and doesn't acknowledge Dean's jabs at him.

"It's more than that Dean."

"No Sam, it's not. Here's what happened. Poor me, got beat up by a Sam look a like. I cried, I cleansed, and now I am sparkling clean and ready to move on. But no, that ain't ever good enough for you is it Sam? You always feel the need to connect with your emotional side. Well Sammy, sorry to break it to you but we are not the same. Me? What you see is what you get. Nothing more inside than out. And don't forget, I've been dealing with shit like this for a hell of a lot longer than you and I always come out smelling like a fricken rose."

Bobby thinks he can actually hear the warning beep, as the manure truck backs right into his kitchen and delivers one smoldering mound of shit right onto the damn floor. Stupid, stubborn idjit.

"Yeah, sure you do Dean. I smell something alright but I would hardly call it a rose, more like a bouquet of shit flowers. You aren't fooling anyone man, not even yourself, not anymore. You are a mess and Bobby and I are not going to just sit back and watch you destroy yourself."

Bobby watches Dean intently. He sees frustration at how Sam isn't falling for any of his goading. He sees flashes of panic, then rage, then sadness and finally that oldie but goodie defiance line his eyes, his jaw and his body language.

"For the last damn time… I AM FINE! Well, I am done talking. I am not gonna take part in this horseshit so you better get ready to take turns watching me, cuz one way or another I am getting the frick out of here and as far away from you two amigos as I can."

Bobby doesn't respond, just plows full steam ahead into the next phase of this so called 'intervention.'

"You ain't answered my question yet."

"Oh? And just which one might that be _pops_?"

"You know damn well so quit stalling."

Dean pushes Bobby back in his chair with the look he sends his way. And then delivers the same to Sam.

"Right, the circle always comes back to dad doesn't it? Just forget it. Didn't mean nothing, just never mind. Okay? Like you said, I had a rough night. I'm still a little on edge so not thinking 100% clear yet. Okay? That's all, it's as simple as that. Can we just forget about it? Call me whatever you want, I really don't give a shit. Are we good now?"

"Nah, sorry Dean, we ain't anywhere near good yet."

"You can't keep me cooped up and locked up and detained in your damn house for the rest of my life Bobby."

Bobby figures he'll just keep on talking when he notices the cracks start to form, as Dean looks around wildly to try and find a way out of here. Or rather, out of the truth juice he is being marinated in. Ah hell, as much as he hates doing this to the boy, they ain't gonna get another chance at this.

"I figure that you have this idjit notion that if I was your daddy then I would end up dead, or worse. That's what you really think ain't it?"

Green eyes full of hate twinkle over at the oldest in the group. Okay, that struck a nerve. Dean's fist wraps itself around the edge of the table and when he talks next, he is seething.

"Don't you talk about him. About that. Not that Bobby. Anything but that."

Dean focuses on Bobby's face and then they drift downward... until Bobby sees a disturbing smile creep across the injured man's face. Damn.

Dean rushes to his feet and is over in Bobby's face before the other man can even think about standing up. Alright, well, one thing for sure, Dean is beyond pissed. That tells him all he needs to know. The chord has been struck and he just has to hang on tight as the anger it has created reverberates through the room.

Sure, there may be a waver of pain in those eyes too, as Dean pushes back on Bobby's shoulders and must ignite the fire in his own. But what's a little pain if you can bully your way into getting out of here; out of talking about it; out of the watchful eyes of the other two men. And damn if Bobby ain't the one who has the kid's means of escape shoved down the pocket of his damn pants.

"Hand 'em over old man. Now." The voice is strained and gravelly and, to Bobby's surprise, overly emotional. So, time to turn the screw just a little tighter cuz this kid is ready to pop.

He keeps a stare to rival the younger man's trained on Dean's face, but his peripheral vision sees Sam move to his feet and inch his way to the battling duo at the end of the table. Dean's head snaps over to his brother and it stops Sam dead in his tracks.

"Don't worry bro, there's a hell of a lot of anger in me to go around. It's just Bobby here," Those eyes shift back to the older hunter again… "see, he's got the one and only thing I need to get the hell away from this song and dance. Give me the damn keys Bobby before I make you."

Huh, Bobby isn't exactly sure where threats rank on the twelve step program but he doesn't like it one damn bit, can't they just get past all this and on to the acceptance part? Yeah, right. He's sure that'll happen shortly. Damn.

Time for the big guns Bobby. Time to unravel the rage displayed on the kids face and get down to the nitty gritty; the meat and potatoes of all of this.

"Your dad is gone Dean but it ain't your fault."

Dean's fist wraps itself in the older man's shirt and Bobby feels himself get pulled up slightly.

"Shut the hell up Bobby!"

The intensity in the eyeballs hasn't changed but the forcefulness of the grip doesn't last long. Dean is on the edge of being overtaken by his body's need to sit the hell down and that suits Bobby just fine. After all, who knows what the stupid idjit would have done to get those damn keys. Keep it going.

"He made his own choice son and it ain't fair but he left you to pay the price for it. That damn idjit, if he only knew how it would tear you apart."

"I said… SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Dean squints his eyes and shakes his head.

Sam circles around the confrontation and places a hand on Dean's arm.

Dean's gaze slowly meets his brother's. Bobby can see pure pain in those eyes and it pulls on his heart with such intensity that he almost turns away.

"Time to talk about it Dean. Please man, you are not alright and you know it."

Dean shrugs out of Sam's gentle hold and backs up from them, looking like an animal who has just been thrown into a cage with no way out. Bobby hates to see this young man so lost. Bobby moves slowly towards him and Dean keeps his backward motion until he nudges up against the kitchen wall.

His breaths are uneven and his steely gaze has morphed into one of intense agony and sorrow.

"Bobby, c'mon, just stop this. I… I don't want to talk about it. It's over and done, why rehash it now?"

Sam is beside him now and Bobby can see the wall start to crumble around the older sibling.

"Because Dean, last night…."

There is a quiver in Sam's voice and the Winchester brother looks to him for a moment. Bobby nods his head to acknowledge his agreement, and Dean looks like he is just about to collapse from the weight of their silent conversation, as if already knows what Sam is about to say.

"Because... you tried to kill yourself last night Dean. So whatever you say, whatever you do to try and convince us that you are fine and everything is okay we know better. This time we saw it with our own eyes."

"Sammy... please...no..."

Dean is boring a hole through the floor now and Sam takes it slow and easy until he places a gentle hand on his brother's chin.

"Look at me bro. Please."

Bobby hears a sound so out of place it takes him a moment to realize it is coming from the older brother. From Dean. It sounds like a sob.

"You tried to kill yourself Dean. That is not the reaction of a person who is fine. That is the reaction of someone desperate to end the horrible pain that has consumed them. Please Dean, look at me."

No fight this time. No denial. No struggle or smart ass comments. When Dean's face rises up, it is flooded with a look of devastation. Bobby needs to wipe away the moisture that has pooled in his own eyes as he watches the two brothers speak volumes to each other, without uttering one damn word.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter if you are so inclined to do so! :D<strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello everyone! Hey, I don't know about you but I am stoked about Season 7 already! Awesome stuff! Anywho, thank you for coming back for more Dean angst. I hope as always that you continue to enjoy and I can't thank all of you enough for all your support and awesome comments for this story. I can't express how much I appreciate each and every one of you! **

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><p>"S'mmy… it hurts… so damn much… all the time… tearing me… apart…"<p>

Bobby clears his throat louder than he intended, hell, he was just trying to dislodge the lump and feeling of helplessness that seems to have clogged up his damn arteries. Shit. He figures he may have just ruined this Hallmark moment but, although he does see Dean's misty and unfocused eyes train on him for a split second, they drift back to his brother without him making a sound.

"I know it hurts Dean. I know you are on the edge man but just take it easy. We can get through this. Me and Bobby aren't going anywhere."

Well shit. Bobby ain't no psychiatrist but he don't need a degree to tell him it is never a good indication of mental alright-ness when this is the kind of moment that suddenly evokes a round of boisterous laughter. Yet there Dean is, smiling and laughing and freaking both of the other men the hell out. This is the sign of someone whose screws have broken loose and are rattling around in their head. He may just remember this for the rest of his life. The exact moment when he witnessed Dean come totally undone; the moment when those seemingly impenetrable walls came crashing down on him like a damn tidal wave. Balls.

Shivers wiggle their way through the older brother's frame and for the umpteenth time over the last twenty four hours he looks like a damn feather could knock him over. It just proves that stress on the body and mind will take their toll on even the toughest of men. And as the laughter continues to fly out of him; as it borders on the plane of hysterics, it seems pretty damn obvious this nut has just cracked and is on the verge of splitting right open. Dean is laughing so hard there are tears in his damn eyes. To see the older brother on the verge of some kind of psychotic break; the fact that he is hanging on to his sanity by the thinnest of a proverbial thread, tells Bobby that there is a whole lot of shit piled up so damn deep in his stubborn noggin that even he and Sam had no idea exactly how much. Hell, he half expects his eyes to turn dark brown.

Sam turns to look at Bobby and once again it's like looking in a damn mirror. Dean has lost it and now they have to try and reel him in. Pronto like.

"Dean…"

"Hang on a sec, gotta catch my breath dude. Whew, that's a good one Sam. Oh man, I haven't had a good laugh like that in ages."

"What are you talking about?"

Weird. Dean has got the Jekyl and Hyde routine down to a damn science. It's eerie and unsettling to say the least. The tears, gone. The laughter, gone. The sudden silence that surrounds the trio makes the ticking of the clock on his mantle sound like freakin Big Ben.

Hardness and bitterness infect Dean's features and steely eyes hone in on the younger brother's face. He tilts his head as if he is trying to assess what his brother's true motivations are. He lifts a hand to touch Sam's shoulders and gives him a slight squeeze, like he's trying to snap him out of his delusional stupor.

"C'mon Sam, please tell me you ain't that gullible. I mean, you don't seriously believe that pile of stinking horse shit do ya? _'Me_ _and_ _Bobby_ _aren't_ _going_ _anywhere_?' Can you even hear yourself? Did you get that off of some damn fortune cookie or something? Really Sam, we both know that your rosy outlook for the future ain't gonna happen. You and Bobby? You'll end up like the rest."

Dean leans in close to his brother and Bobby can't help but angle his body closer as well. He is just as curious as the younger brother to find out what kind of secret the injured man is going to whisper.

"Sorry to be the one to tell you man, but you're just two more pawns on the 'let's see how many ways we can punish Dean' chess board."

This damn idjit is making him want to punch something. Or cry. Or scream. Hell, he ain't sure which but he knows that Dean believes in the end they will all leave him. It's enough to make the older hunter shudder at the magnitude of all the shit this kid has stowed away in his excessive and impressive collection of baggage.

"Sam, you don't know. You can't tell me that. You can't promise me that. You and gramps over there can't do a damn thing. You can't help me. Don't you get it? That's what I've been trying to tell you. Nobody can. It's only a matter of time before I am the only game piece left on the board. You and Bobby are cursed Sam. One way or another I will be the one that ends up getting you killed. Just like all the others. Just like…"

He's sliding down the wall now, the outburst of emotions having turned his body to mush and his extremities to jello. Sam eases him down and Bobby hears the younger brother sniffle as he undoubtedly tries to hold back his own emotions from pouring out onto the floor to mix right in alongside his brother's.

Hell, Bobby ain't sure if Sam has ever heard his brother talk like this, let alone offer a glimpse into his darkest thoughts. He knows he sure as hell never has. Now that Dean has started to crack and splinter, tendrils of the guilt and shame and pain he has held in for so long seem to ooze away from him and swirl around the other men. All those emotions threaten to plunge right into the heart of the older man and Bobby can't deny that it hurts like a son of a bitch.

"dad… shit.. you mean just like dad. Dean, listen to me. Dean… it wasn't…"

"Don't Sam, just don't. Can you really sit here and… tell me that he would still… that if he didn't… Christ, that stupid son of a bitch… If I…what if… shit… it's just… why did he… and then… left me with… "

Bobby is unsure what his role in this scene should be. Should he move forward and join in the moment; should he silently sashay his ass back from whence he came; or should he just stand there like a god damn statue and see what the brothers' next moves will be? This is new and unchartered territory for the old man and he is truly at a loss at what he can do to ease the man's pain. It is so palpable and so deeply interwoven within his psyche that he fears any attempt to slow down the torrent may just snap him in two, or make him collapse into the recesses of his shattered and scarred mind.

Real tears are flowing now, sliding down Dean's cheek and he growls in frustration at what he is being made to think about. He slams his head against the wall hard and Bobby's decision is made. He rushes to the ground and stops Dean as he tries to go for round number two.

"Easy son, easy."

Dean pays Bobby no mind, his intent gaze still zeroed in on his brother.

"What if….if I can't save you S'mmy? Then what good am I? Huh?"

Sam's own tears start to descend from his glistening eyes and he curves a hand around his brother's neck.

"Dean, you have spent your whole damn life protecting me no matter what. You have saved me enough to last a hundred lifetimes. Please bro, just this once try to focus on saving yourself. I don't know what's going to happen or what all this shit flying around us means but you have to believe that I will fight it; that we will fight it like we've fought every other damn crappy thing life has thrown our way. We'll fight together, like we always have. But right now, you have to stop this path of self-destruction you are on. You are really starting to freak me out man."

"M'sorry S'mmy… I… I'll be okay, you know that. I'm always okay. Just need another hunt to take my mind off it and I'll be back in the game. Please Sammy… pleeease… I.. I can't do this... don't make me do this…"

Sam doesn't speak this time but the pleading in Dean's eyes fades quickly as his younger brother shakes his head and just continues to peer into his brother's own teary set.

"What the frick do you want me to say? Huh? WHAT!"

He's flailing now, trying to get off the floor and away from the emotional torture he is under.

"Answer me damn it! What! Jesus, now you two are gonna give me the silent treatment? Un-fricken-believable! Well then, let me up and get the hell out of my way."

"DEAN! Just STOP IT, this is not going to go away. You can't just brush this under the carpet and leave it there. Don't you get it? YOU TRIED TO KILL YOURSELF! I am not going to just forget what I saw… I got to you just in time… and… shit, it was so close.

I know this sucks man, I know you hate everything about this but your anger and guilt and weight of responsibility is going to destroy you. I am not going to sit back and watch it happen!"

His fervour to extract himself from the linoleum drains away for a minute and Bobby can almost see the light bulb turn on in his head. Bobby sighs when he figures out the signs, Dean can be an open book sometimes. Bobby can see he is still not quite ready to accept the comfort they are trying to give him; the comfort he so desperately needs but that he feels he doesn't deserve. Damn, stubborn idjit.

"I…I'm sick right? You and Bobby said so yourself. Infection and fever and who knows what else. Just the fever talking, that shit can do this. Right? I was out of my gourd and didn't know what I was doing. Just a mistake Sam… won't happen again…"

Bobby moves in closer and Sam grips his brother's hands in his own. Dean is shaky and sweaty and Bobby ain't sure continuing with him in this state is such a good idea.

"Sam, maybe that's enough for now."

A flash of anger turns his way and Bobby will deny it later, but he actually gulps in response to the look on Sam's face. Okay, so the younger of the two idjits ain't done yet. The voice comes out soft and low but there is no mistaking the meaning.

"No Bobby. You know what he'll do, sluff it off and bury himself under the sand again. He needs to let it out and this is the best chance we'll get."

As the two men face each other and Bobby is just about to acquiesce to what Sam wants, their eyebrows rise in tandem at the noise they hear the injured man make. Definitely a growl and definitely not good. They turn their heads simultaneously towards Dean and he faces them with an incredibly creepy and on the verge of insane grin.

"Alrighty then, who wants to ask me something first? Huh? It's like a regular slumber party in here you know? This is just like truth or dare except I'm the only one playing. Have I got the rules right? You just want me to sit back and lollygag about my troubles while you sit there and take notes to try and somehow come up with a magical potion to make poor Dean all better? Huh? That about sum it up! HEY! AM I RIGHT!"

Agitated. Annoyed. Shaking and sweating and currently off his freakin rocker. Yup, that is the Dean monster that they have created in his kitchen and the one they will have to deal with. Bobby can see in Sam's face that he has done a complete one eighty.

"Maybe you're right Bobby, time to call it a day."

Thank god.

"Listen Dean, maybe you oughtta…."

Eyes bore into him. Bobby ain't sure if it's shock or disdain or what but god damn it, he and Sam asked for this and they are sure as hell gonna get it.

"Oughtta what Bobby? Relax? Take it easy? Lay down for a spell? Have a siesta? Huh, you and ginorma-Sam here have spent all this time needling away at me; undoing stitch after fricken stitch of my protective outer layers to get to the goods underneath. You've spent hours trying to open my insides up like you were filleting a damn fish, and now that my guts have finally spilled out on the floor you suddenly decide you don't want to clean up the mess. Is that right?

Well, tough shit. Congratulations boys, you have just picked the lock on my very own, personal Pandora's box and you are damn well going to have to sift through all the crap. Every damn sordid bit of it. But word to the wise, next time you should be more careful what you wish for."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by, I would love to hear your thoughts! :D <strong>


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello everyone and thanks for coming back. I am totally and completely unsatisfied with this chapter but I just can't look at it anymore, so I hope it isn't quite as bad as I think and that you will find something to enjoy about it!**

**I can't thank you enough for all of your support for this story. Thanks as always for taking the time to read, I truly appreciate it!**

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><p>Dean plants his feet on the ground and tries to shimmy himself up the wall using his uninjured arm to climb to a vertical position. He growls under his breath and makes no mistake about the fact that he wants to do it himself as he shrugs off the helping hands of his brother to weasel his way up the wall. Sam lets go of him and waits for him to stand.<p>

Bobby gets another lump in his throat, but this one is different. This one is lodged there because he suddenly feels like this was a very, very bad idea. Dean ain't looking too pretty right now and he isn't sure whether it's because of the fever and physical strain, or the fact that he is so beyond angry and emotionally cooked that his rage and pain is boiling through his body as vigorously as that damn infection is.

Sam tries to look his brother in the eye but the older sibling ain't having it. Sam puts his hands out, not to touch his brother but to try and show him in a placating stance that he ain't no damn threat.

"Dean, just take it easy bro. Do you hear me? We're worried about you man, that's all. Take it slow."

Dean straightens at that and glares into Sam. Bobby can hear the younger man sigh as he realizes that may not have been the best comment to make at this particular moment. Idjit.

"Take it… take it easy! That's rich Sam. I'll have you know I _was_ taking it easy until you and Dr. Phil over there decided to play a little round of squeeze Dean's grapefruit until it explodes! You two numb nuts and your damn games. 'We'll make sure he can't get away and then we'll peel away the onion, slice by slice with a round of psychobabble bullshit until he caves.' I am so beyond pissed off that all I feeling like doing right now is punching you in your damn face. So back the hell up Sam and get the frick out of my personal space, my fist is really starting to itch."

He means it to come out snarly and full of venom but Dean's voice has lost its edge and ferocity. Although Bobby feels a bit skittish about what the hell the older brother is about to reveal, at least the kid ain't gonna be busy trying to tackle him for his damn keys. Yet.

Bobby reaches out to try his hand at deescalating the volatile volcano in front of him, even if only by a fraction. "Dean…."

"Don't fricken touch me!"

Bobby's hand snaps back like it was just plunged into a vat of the burning lava that spews out of this boy, and takes a couple of steps back to assess their next move. Somehow the rules of this game have changed and now it seems to be Dean who has control of the board and all the damn cards. So, note to self. Sure, it may be dangerous to poke and prod at a sleeping bear, but it's beyond all levels of stupidness to poke and prod an injured, sarcastic, stubborn assed, bitter and backed into a corner one. That's plain suicidal. Balls, bad choice of words.

Dean staggers away from the wall to limp slowly and languidly away from the duo, leaving them to think about what the hell they are gonna do next. He has made his point clear. He's gonna talk and they are gonna listen, but he'll make damn sure it's on his own terms.

Sam is fidgeting beside him and as he takes a step towards his brother, the older hunter juts his arm out to stop his forward momentum. Sam looks to him and Bobby whispers out 'Leave him be, he needs some space or he's gonna blow.'

"I think he's way past that Bobby. He's on edge, erratic and not thinking straight."

Dean stops and laughs, short and angry like. "You think? Huh, well kind of forgot the part about it being your fault hey Sammy? But, no worries, I ain't gonna hold a grudge."

Bobby feels Sam stiffen at those cutting words but even he has to admit that Dean is kinda half-assed right on that point. They have driven him to the brink. Yeah, maybe he needed to be pushed a bit, but forcing him to plummet right off a damn cliff was perhaps not thought out as well as it should have been.

Dean continues to travel away from them and towards the fridge where he grabs a couple of beers and plunks them down on the counter. He opens one, downs it in what Bobby figures is, oh, two point five seconds and before he has even finished the last swallow, Dean has the other one open and sucks it dry in another spectacle of record time.

They just stand there, unable to move, unable to think of one god damn thing to say to the man who seems to be working at a fever pitch to get as much alcohol in him as he can manage.

After brewski number three Bobby decides enough of this horse shit and starts to walk towards him, Sam following closely at his heels. He has almost reached him when Dean's low chuckle effectively stops both men in their tracks.

"Huh, you know, I should thank you guys. Really. I mean wow….."

He waves his arm in an exaggerated motion over his head.

"… it is just so damn awesome to have all this shit swirling around in my brain again. I almost forgot how good it feels to relive every craptacular moment of my life. Good thing you guys were here to remind me how I got to this point and where I came from. All that shit, I had it locked up nice and tight but really, why should I? After all, what's a bit of inner torment if it will help you two stop with all the worrying."

Dean's voice starts to crack and Bobby wants nothing more than to rush over, grab hold of him and never let go. He wants to save him from the tidal wave; he wants to be the life preserver that keeps him afloat; he wants to yell at him that he loves the damn idjit! But, he doesn't move because he is pretty sure Dean would turn around and sock him one. And as Bobby is teetering on the edge of irrationality himself, he would probably feel obliged and compelled to return the favour. And, although it may make him feel better and may knock Dean's attitude down a peg or to, it would be like taking about a million steps back. So Bobby stays where he is, frozen to the spot.

Bobby peers at Sam and sees the silent tears stream down his face. If Bobby feels like shit about this then Sam must be under the biggest steaming pile of all. This is his brother; this is his protector, the only family he's got left, and he is spitting out pain the only way he knows how, with unabated sarcasm.

"You know me, always ready to risk life and limb to help my family out. So what I'm trying to say is i'm sorry. Sorry that I've been fighting this, hell, it's gonna be so god damn liberating to say it all out loud. Then I'll be purged right? That's the plan isn't it? The way you two have been preaching your damn sermon, all I have to do it say the words out loud and all the hurt and pain and bullshit will flutter away like some beautiful butterfly into the sunset. Ain't that a fricken pretty picture?"

The voice is colder and out of reach now, and Bobby swallows the fear he has for this kid deep into his gut.

"Yeah, I'm sure we will all feel better about every god damn thing once my guts are oozing out of me and swimming around in you instead."

He opens the fridge, grabs another cold one and gulps it down. Okay, four beers in five minutes. Dean is definitely not fine and Bobby sees him hang onto the counter as if it was his only lifeline to reality. Whatever demons are pounding at his walls they sure as hell ain't doing it nice and gentle like.

This time when the injured hunter's hand heads for the door, it stops in mid stride. A shake of his head and off he goes again.

"I have spent my whole freakin life trying to somehow purify myself of the taint; of the moment when my life was shattered and distorted by the same flames that….that burned our mother into a piece of demon style charcoal. The moment she started…."

The door opens, another beer is uncapped and Dean downs half the bottle in one swig. Dean's frame starts to shake and he needs to put the bottle down as it threatens to slip from his vibrating fingers. Shit. He is lost in thought as he stares out the window and into the light of the day. Such a contrast. The sun streams in to illuminate the trio as every strand of darkness is being plucked from within this young man's core.

"…. to burn I could feel myself be branded, like some damn dirty pig headed towards the slaughterhouse. That blaze..it..it scorched my skin and friggin flambéed my soul. Huh, see Sammy, I can use big words too but I never got the chance. Whatever I wanted to be, whatever dreams I had were snuffed out, transformed into a smoldering ruin to go along with our home. I could no longer be anything but this piece of shit you see right now, my damn role in life was solidified that night."

"Dean, please, you can stop now."

He doesn't say anything but shakes his head slightly. Bobby hears him sniffle and wonders how he is managing to keep it together.

"I was gone. I was changed. I turned from a snot nosed kid into a man right then and there as we all huddled up outside and watched our home turn to ash. No longer someone's son, but someone's soldier. No longer a free spirit, but a guy with one purpose and one mission. Find the demon and kill it.

I was now just a nameless, faceless god damn soldier Sam! A tool and a weapon, nothing more. But hey, it ain't so bad, I've actually done one hell of a job. Maybe this is what I was meant to be. Nothing but a killer. Nothing but a mindless soldier, designed to shut up and take orders. A god damn puppet always at the control and beckon call of someone else."

Bobby hears a groan come from Dean next, followed by another disconcerting giggle.

"I'd like to say that dad was proud of me but the hell if I know, that bastard never talked to me unless I screwed up or he needed back up for one of his stupid hunts. But hell, that doesn't matter, can't blame him for that. He.. I mean we had a damn job to do so to hell with Dean and his own pain, dad's was all that mattered. His world became mine and was filled with the same purpose. Revenge."

He teeters now, his body starts to sway, no doubt inundated with memories forced up to the surface in a relentless torrent of suffering and loss.

"No. Wait, just a minute. That part of dad never saying he was proud? Huh, that's not quite true. He did say it. He tried to cram a lifetime of pride and damn fatherhood into two fricken minutes…right before he…."

Dean's back goes stiff and rigid, Bobby can hear his sharp intake of breath and another sound gurgles up deep within his throat. And, before their eyes, Dean's meltdown truly begins.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by.<strong>

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by.<strong>


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello everyone! Thanks for coming back! Yes, more Dean angst and suffering in this chapter. I should stop myself soon before this story drags on wayyyy tooooo long :) In case I haven't mentioned it before: THANK YOU to everyone who has taken the time to read, alert, favourite and review this story! I am overwhelmed by your support and kind words! I hope you will enjoy. Thanks again! :D**

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><p>Bobby ain't sure if he has ever heard a sound like that come from Dean, let alone any other person on the planet. It's rage and torment and fear and guilt all rolled up into one ear piercing and heart breaking yell.<p>

His eyes flicker over to Sam and the two of them just stare deep into each other's faces; they have just taken the hinge off of Dean's 'things I never want to remember' trunk and the contents are busy spilling over in a rag tag mess of thoughts and whispered statements.

He still faces that damn window and Bobby knows he ain't even talking to them anymore; he is so wrapped up in his own piles and piles of crap that the older man doubts he even realizes they are still there. Balls, with a helping of balls on top.

Dean hangs onto the counter to support the tilt and teeter of his frame but his back is still stiff and rigid; his stubbornness helping to keep him upright. Bobby tries to calculate what would be the best way to approach. They wanted him to talk and all but hell, this ain't talking. This is the beginning of mass self-destruction at its very core.

A shaky hand reaches across the counter, bypasses the half empty beer and snatches a different container from its perch beside the fridge. Shit. Okay, Bobby knows hard liquor intake ain't exactly gonna help this situation any.

Dean uncaps the whiskey and lifts it up to his lips but he doesn't drink; he just stares out into the yard.

"Dad… you bastard. After everything I did for you, everything I gave up for this life how could you leave me like this...like that? How could you… did I mean... that little..."

One long swig goes down into his gullet.

"Why…. I did…. my life…. Over before it fricken started…you may as well of…"

Another swig.

"..killed me in that… damn hospital…"

One more down the hatch.

Sam approaches cautiously towards his brother as the view of his back still screams out a totally defensive tone. Rigid, taut and ready for a fight.

"Dean? C'mon bro, why don't we sit down and talk about this okay? You keep drinking like that and we'll have to peel you off of the floor. That's not your style right?"

A pause before another tilt of the bottle, though it seems he may have slowed a little as a smaller amount is poured into his mouth.

"Come away from the window and sit down."

Another chuckle, the deployment of the bottle roughly on the counter, and a tightening of both fists has Sam stop a few feet from him and look to Bobby in concern.

The air is charged with every emotion under the sun, but as Dean's knuckles start to whiten under the force in which he has them clamped, Bobby knows that right now it is anger that surges through him; like a barely contained bolt of lightning just itchin' to singe the earth around it.

He doesn't turn or acknowledge Sam, just continues his love affair with that damn window.

"stupid sack of shit… no good for nothing… waste of space… It's not… FAIR!"

Both of the other men flinch as Dean's voice booms out that final word, and although they are on edge and know the pin to the grenade has been pulled, neither of them really expect to see him lose control on inanimate objects.

He swipes away every single item on the counter, save the container of liquid gold, and the sound of breaking dishes and Dean's ragged breaths reverberates through the space in a bone chilling and rattling cacophony of noise.

Bobby watches Dean's fist unfurl for a split second before it clenches again and he hopes Sam is ready because there is a whole lotta psychological crap wrapped up in those damn fingers of his and Sam is now the closest target.

He looks over to the younger brother and notices that Sam has also adopted a fight stance of his own. One leg is in front of the other, to make him more solid and difficult to knock over, and his fists are ready to go, like he is about to enter the ring for the title. Yet, despite the posturing and the readiness, there is only sorrow and concern embedded in his face.

Bobby admires Sam like maybe he never has at that moment. He may even be in awe of him. Sam. The love he has for his big brother spills out of him in droves. The fact that he will stand there and take on the physical transference of all the pain and the anger of his brother; the fact that if it means some of it will worm and weed its way out of Dean's tortured soul he will take it without question, is a true testament to what these boys feel for one another.

Bobby feels a bit queasy at the way in which Sam seems to be so willing to stand there in the line of fire, but when the young man looks over to him he flashes him a sad smile. It's Sam's way of telling him to let it run its course and not interfere, that he will be fine, that maybe this is what Dean needs.

As he continues to watch Sam's expression, it changes into that damn question mark once again. Bobby turns to see what has peaked his interest, and the word that comes to his mind is unexpected. Huh. All the pent up hostility and rage and guilt that has been ravaging Dean's body and mind seems to have found an outlet alright. It comes out not at Sam or Bobby but rather the injured brother has decided to lay a smack down to Bobby's innocent and defenseless fridge.

The side of his fist slams into its side. "should…"

Another punch in exactly the same spot and Bobby sees a dent form under his hand. "...have been…"

Punch. "me…."

Bobby sighs and shakes his head as the veil is lifted and it dawns on him. Damn it. Dean's rage has always been a force to reckon with; even he would never want to be on the receiving end of it but right here, at this moment, Bobby wishes exactly for that. Wishes that he or Sam were the focus of his anger because he is starting to combust from the inside out.

It ain't them and what they have done that has the anger flowing and bubbling up; that has it oozing out of every pore and rumbling through his veins. But hell. This is so much worse. The anger Dean has is directed solely at himself.

Before they can do anything; before they can breathe or move forward or talk or plead with him to stop this, Dean takes one look at his reflection in the damn window, takes aim and punches his damn fist right through the thing, leaving glass to shatter and spew out in all directions.

Dean's back still faces them and Bobby can see he is heaving, trying to get much needed air into his lungs. His head tilts to look at his handiwork; he seems to stare in awe at the glint of red against his skin. A shiver rolls through the older hunter as he sees a tainted smirk work its way onto Dean's face. He don't like the score much. Dean zero, mental collapse one. Damn it.

Sam and Bobby seemingly decide at the same time that the time of pussy footing around the perimeter of the scene ain't gonna cut it. Time to act. When Dean starts to purposely hurt himself in full view of them, things have gone from out of control to royally screwed.

Dean turns to face them as they approach, their footsteps an obvious indicator that they are on the way. He raises his bloody hand in the air and all three men seem to be mesmerized by the loss of his blood, as it drips down like some sort of warped metaphor for the loss of everything he feels inside.

"Huh, doesn't even hurt. You wanna know why? Cuz I don't feel one damn thing anymore. I'm numb to it. To all of it."

Horse fricken shit. Bobby tacks that statement up to infection, fever, mental implosion, and the fact that if he was on his game Dean would be face down and passed out by the amount of damn liquid happiness he's been chugging down. Hell, he is sure most of his blood has been replaced by alcohol by now.

"Well I'd be numb too kid if I decided to drink a weeks' worth of happy juice in one sitting. Listen, you may not be feeling much now but we need to get that stitched up before you bleed to death. Besides, you're making one hell of a mess in my kitchen."

He smiles at Bobby and the old hunter loses his breath for a moment. He looks so god damn young. He looks like a lost child who needs to be reeled in and told he is damn well worth something to so many people.

But just like that, the innocence in his face is gone and replaced by something much darker.

"Yeah, in a minute Bobby, I'm busy here. Remember the game? Let's see how many hunters it takes to unscrew Dean's lightbulb? Ummm, I'm going with two on that one by the way."

"Well I don't recall anything in the rules about you cutting your damn hand off ya idjit!"

"You wanted me to express myself so this is HOW I EXPRESS MYSELF! Bruised and bloody and violent. Just like me."

"Not up for discussion dude. You can stay there but we need to at least wrap your hand up."

His gaze drifts to Sam and it's Dean's turn to look concerned. Usually Bobby would be pissed off at the way Dean will sacrifice anything and everything he wants for Sam, but this particular looney tunes predicament ain't usual. As a matter of fact, Bobby hopes that Sam pulls out all the stops, uses whatever power he seems to have over his brother to get him to cave.

Dean keeps his eyes focused on Sam and Bobby can see a wince of pain flutter across the damn idjit's face. As his working hand grabs for the whiskey, Bobby doesn't hesitate to yank it out of the way before he gets the chance. Instead of sending out an eyeful of daggers, Dean merely shrugs and looks to his brother once again.

"Yeah okay Sammy, sure, why not right? I can never say no to you. I'm not allowed right?"

He closes his eyes and talks soft and slow.

"Gotta do my damn job, 24 hours a day, 365 fricked up days of the year."

Sam grabs the injured hand and sighs at the damage that his brother has inflicted on himself. Dean gasps a bit as Sam encloses it in a towel and applies pressure but shows no other discomfort than that. His gaze drifts downwards and this time when he talks, it's like he's doing so to the damn pool of blood that has formed on the floor.

"So, you two wanna know what rolls around in my head every damn minute of every damn day huh?

Bobby watches Sam work on his brother's hand and hears him let out a small, whispered 'yes' into the tension filled air.

"I warned you and Bobby not to mess with this shit Sam. I never wanted to drag you down into this with me. You understand that right?"

"Yeah, I understand, but I want to know."

"Bobby?"

Lump number four hundred and twenty seven wriggles its way into his throat. Here it is, showtime, and all Bobby wants to do is go upstairs, crawl into bed and forget that any of this shit ever happened.

"Yeah.."

"Okay. Fine. So down to the meat and potatoes of the thing. The whole trying to kill myself part of tonight's routine was the show stopper for you two it sounds like to me. So, let's start there shall we? I still say that was all the fricked up poison rolling through me cuz you know, I would never actually do the deed. That might actually take some balls and mine are in short supply.

So don't worry about that. Okay? I would never try to kill myself when I'm not hopped up on meds or dealing with the vision of my own brother aka Meg using me as her personal workout routine. Stupid skank."

Hell, Bobby can buy that. Sure, he's seen Dean be reckless before but never to the point where he doesn't have a snowball's chance of making it out in one piece.

"Okay kid, take it easy, we believe ya."

Sam gives him an incredulous look then and all Bobby can do is shrug and wait for any more info that Dean may be in the mood to deliver into their lap. They don't have to wait long.

"That's good. But, the thing is... I... there's just too much... I... I struggle every damn day to get the hell out of bed. This... darkness in my gut... just keeps growing and growing... gets bigger and bigger... so much shit is shoved down in there... mom... Jess... those bastards who died when I should have died.. remember... the healer? that... shit... dad... it just doesn't stop... more and more and more people... for what... me... that's messed up... "

He breaks away from the duo and heads to the table and leans back on it. The other two men stay where they are and Bobby knows they are about two seconds away from ground zero.

"...I am disappointed every stupid morning and do you know why?"

He looks up to them and Bobby can't do anything but shake his head as Sam does the same. Christ, he does not want to know.

"...because I wake up... because every night when I drink myself into a stupor and collapse onto yet another stinky, ugly, itchy motel room piece of crap bed I smile at the thought... that maybe, just maybe... this will be the night when it ends. This will be the night the pain of this life puts me once and for all out of my misery... but fate is a son of a bitch ain't it? So...each day without freakin fail I open up my bloodshot eyes and force myself to get up... to go through all the damn motions over again..."

A sob escapes the younger brother that stands beside him and Bobby reaches to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"God Dean."

Sam walks towards his brother but Dean shoves off to the side and heads back to the damn fridge again. Bobby is in shock. Sam is in shock. Dean is oblivious to anything other than savouring the sweetness of the beer in his hand. He turns to them with a smirk.

"So are we having fun yet?"

Dean sighs and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He wavers for a moment. Maybe from the emotional drain, maybe from his tattered hand, maybe from his alcohol consumption, who the frick knows.

"I warned you. I told you to back the hell off. So tell me, is that what you wanted to hear Bobby? Sam? Does that make your life more complete and worthwhile? Does that make anything in our fricked up life better! NO, IT DOESN'T CHANGE ONE DAMN FRICKEN, STUPID, GOD DAMN THING! I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE IT ALONE!"

He staggers across the kitchen and stops when he gets to the foot of the stairs. He looks back at them with an expression Bobby can't quite place.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I just... shit, I'm not feeling so good. Too much what was it you called that Bobby? Happy juice? Gonna go sleep it off okay? We're good right? Right Bobby? Sam? We're good right?"

Bobby now knows that look. Fear. Genuine, honest to god fear in Dean's eyes. Fear that he has somehow driven them away by spilling his guts. Damn stubborn son of a bitch is messed up.

Sam moves to stand right in front of his brother.

"Yeah man, of course, we're good. You go ahead and I'll be up in a bit to take care of your hand. You okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine dude. Just some blurred vision and a pounding headache. I'm such a pushover when I mix my drinks."

"Okay. Get some sleep Dean."

The pair watch him slowly and painfully ascend the stairs in a sad mixture of alcohol and emotional induced fatigue. They stand there at the bottom of the stairs in silence long after Dean's form has faded from view.

"I'll get the kit Sam. That stubborn idjit's hand ain't gonna stitch its damn self."

"Yeah, right Bobby."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by!<strong>


	22. Final Chapter

**Hello there and welcome back. I have decided that this will be the LAST chapter. I know, I wasn't expecting that either but it just seemed to flow and seemed a good spot to close up shop. **

**I just want to take a moment and say THANK YOU for all the support, encouragement and awesome reviews, you have kept my creative juices flowing during the entire Punching Bag Blues experience. Thank you sooooooooooo much!**

**I hope you enjoy. **

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><p>Bobby shuffles away to leave Sam at the foot of the stairs; to give the young man a moment to collect himself. With Dean out of their immediate and watchful eyes, Bobby is certain that the younger sibling no longer feels the adrenaline rush, but rather the enormity of his brother's display.<p>

After all, the two men were just privy to a rare glimpse and front row seat; they have just witnessed first-hand the scope of the devastation and destruction that has consumed the older Winchester son. The vision and complexity of unbridled emotions from someone who seems to take pride in the fact that he rarely shows them, has rattled each of the other men to the bone. Bobby knows well enough that one look into Sam's concerned and down trodden face would be the catalyst to his own damn meltdown. And that ain't a scene he is willing to have either of them endure.

Bobby's gait and movements are slow and laboured. His damn body seems to have lost its gumption and is sending him a strong signal that it would rather just sink to the floor and stay there. The tension that kept his body rigid and in protector mode has left him with a vengeance, and has decided to remind him quite rudely of just exactly how old he really is.

He stalks over to rummage through his ample supplies; to assemble all the items they'll need to do their usual patch up of Dean's wound. But this time is different. Dean didn't get in a tussle with a spirit, or a ghost, or a damn werewolf. He did the damage himself, as punishment for all the failings he thinks he is guilty of and all the pain and suffering he thinks he deserves. Balls.

So Bobby does the only thing he can. He continues on with his mission and goes through the usual motions; gathers up the typical entourage of devices and tools to suture and cleanse the physical afflictions Dean always seems to be in need of repair of.

He scoffs softly and shakes his head as a twisted rendition of Humpty Dumpty rattles around in his overstressed brain. Shit. For all the implements he sees; all the needles and thread and bandages that fill his bag of tricks, he don't see one damn thing that can do one little slice of god damn good to cleanse or mend that boy's broken heart or begin to piece his shattered world back together again.

Bobby jumps slightly at the sudden appearance of Sam at his side. He turns to take a good look at him. The kid looks wrecked. He supposes that ain't much of a surprise, hell, it's only natural. When you stand your ground right in the oncoming path of a tornado when it decides to blow through, you can't help but expect some pieces of yourself to be swept up in the mix; can't help but undoubtedly add your own shit and debris into the updraft as the whirlwind howls and spews, as it leaves chunks to crash loudly back to earth as it falters and fizzles out.

"Uh Bobby?"

"Yeah kid? What's on your mind?"

"Would you mind, I mean … I think I'd… well…"

"Just spit it out Sam, I can't take much more deflecting or looks like the one you got planted on your face. I ain't gonna break, just out with it."

"Right. I was… I was thinking I would like to go up there alone. I mean, I'll call if I need help but I just… I think I need a little time, just him and me. I don't know why but I…"

Sam's eyes tear up and Bobby notices his own hands start to shake. The pure pain written all over this young man's face is undeniable. The poor kid wants to have a moment to talk to his brother without some old geezer at his side. That shouldn't bother him in the slightest, it shouldn't faze or hurt but damn it, for some reason it does.

He feels it deep within his gut. These two brothers, these two young men are his family, his sons, and he wants to be there for them however he can. The thought of either of them bearing the weight of so much pain makes him want to go out and kill each and every son of a bitch thing that has driven them into this life. He wants to protect them, to shield them from the madness that consumes every moment of their world, but, the sad and pissy truth is that he can't.

"Ah hell Sam, you read my damn mind. I could use a break from all the drama around here. You better get moving if you wanna do any talking, that idjit is gonna be passed out soon."

With a deep sigh and nod of his weary head, Sam takes the kit from Bobby's outstretched hand but the older of the two feels a swell of something bubble up from deep inside him and he suddenly can't let the kid just walk away. A cascade of emotion runs its course through his veins and before Sam can turn away from him, Bobby puts his free hand on top of his and squeezes.

He looks directly, with meaning and purpose, into the boy's face and tries to convey everything; tries to pour out every single feeling and thought that runs through his head into the other man by way of his gaze and the grip of his fingers.

Two brothers. Two young men. Their innocence stolen, their world destroyed in the brutal flame of fire and by the depths of unforgettable loss. Both of these boys endure hurt of unimaginable proportions, are saddled down with it, stifling in it from a lifetime of shit.

It's frustrating and annoying and pisses the older hunter off. The fact that he can't seem to do one damn thing to stop it makes him feel as useful as a damn brick wall. But, even so, there is one thing these two can be sure of. Bobby Singer will always be here for them, in whatever way they need him to be.

"Bobby? You okay, kinda zoned out on me there."

"Just… just a minute Sam."

"But you said…"

"I know, just humour an old man would ya? Now, out with it, how you holding up?"

Balls. The kid looks so damn tired. And sad. And heartbroken. Bobby wishes he could wave some kind of magic wand to release them from the spell of whatever son of a bitch has done this to them.

"I'm not sure. He's… he's just so lost Bobby. I thought if I could get him to talk about it… that somehow it would help to heal him but now… I'm not so sure there is anything I can do for him. I mean, you saw him, he's…."

The young man's breath starts to hitch and Bobby clears his throat and looks away in an effort to keep what he thinks is the cool and calm exterior he is portraying from going south and crumbling into anything but.

Sam needs him. Dean needs him and damn it, he aims to do whatever he can and whatever it takes to be the one person in their lives they can depend on.

"Listen Sam, we do what we have always done. We be here for him, in whatever way he needs us. It hurts like hell to see him like this, I know, but the smart ass, stubborn mule we know and love is still in there. He just has to know we ain't going nowhere. I mean come on, you two have overcome so much shit in your life but you have always managed to come out on top on the pile. Sure, you may come out stinking to high heaven, but you do always come out. You have each other and it'll be enough Sam, because it has to be."

Bobby sees the hint of a smile come to life on the young man's face.

"That really was beautiful Bobby, a real Halmark moment."

"That's about as eloquent as I get kid. Glad you got a chuckle out of me and my uncomfortable-ness."

"Yeah, what choice do I have right? I either have to laugh or cry, and I don't know if I can shed one more tear. It's all too much. And hell, I don't even know if Dean will remember any of this shit and truthfully, a part of me, a big part hopes he doesn't. I… I just…"

The smile dissipates in seconds and Bobby hates, actually he detests the forlorn look that it is replaced by.

"I just want my brother back. I don't want to lose him like I lost dad.. or Jess. He doesn't deserve any of this crap and I wish… I wish he would learn to forgive himself, if even for one damn thing."

"Ditto Sam. No argument here. We'll figure it out. But next time we gotta come up with a better plan, your brother don't take too kindly to the, what did he call it?"

"Huh. Intervention?"

"That's it. Boy, that didn't work out so hot did it?"

"Nope. That one is in the minus column for sure. I'll be okay Bobby, and hopefully so will Dean. One day at a time."

"Sounds good. Okay, well, off you go then. Let me know if princess gives you a hard time."

"I will. Thanks Bobby."

This time it's Sam that Bobby eyes as he makes his way up the stairs to try and mend some part of Dean's ravaged soul. As Sam disappears out of view, he suddenly feels empty and totally alone there in the doorway to his kitchen.

He feels dirty, like he has been coated in a layer of slime and sludge that no amount of scrubbing will ever purge from his pores; like something has been soaked right through his skin and into his blood.

He waits until he hears the soft click of the door upstairs as it closes before he turns to head back into the sunlit room. As he looks among the chaos; as his boots crunch remnants of glass that lay under his feet; as he spies the splintered pieces of cups and window that litters the floor; as he hones in on the blood, Dean's blood as it paints a sickening pattern on his damn linoleum floor, he has to grip the counter to support himself. He hangs on for dear life, to try and ride the wave and rein in his own turmoil of emotions at the realization of what happened when Dean's cork had finally blown.

He stays there, his eyes scrunched tight and his lungs pleading for him to deliver more air, until the images and words and events of the past day, the ones whose assault is constant and uncontrollable, finally overrun his defenses and manage to break the seal to come tearing out of him without anything to filter or slow their escape.

Bobby Singer. The gruff hunter, the fighter of evil, stands there surrounded by carnage of glass and debris. He stands, in the midst of blood and traces of anger and despair and unfathomable pain.

Although the sun still peeks in through the now splintered window, he feels nothing but darkness, courtesy of the damn perpetual cloud of gloom and doom that has invaded his home the same way it has invaded each and every moment of the brothers' lives.

Bobby Singer, father figure and protector; confidant and sounding board for the Winchester sons, stands alone, his heart heavy, saddened by the punches this life keeps on doling out to his beloved idjits.

The only man close enough to the boys to truly understand them; the only one able to see underneath the bullshit they weave and know them for the brave and smart and damn heroic men they are stands on the edge of his own display of uncharacteristic emotion.

Bobby Singer, the man who holds a huge soft spot in his heart for Dean and Sam Winchester lowers his head in his hands and sighs deeply. He stands alone in his kitchen. And cries.

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><p><strong>The End.<strong>


End file.
